Poetry

Book Mad- Poem

The clock ticks nine!

Lights out already ?

Too soon for a bookworm.

Night light under bed sheets,

Committing my own secret crime

to figure out who did commit the crime.

No way ! An anti-hero ?

It can’t be, it can’t be.

My eyes glued to the paper

totally immersed in the words

determined to follow them

to the very end.

Uh-oh, my battery dies.

I run up to my dad

to let me read for another minute,

just one last page.

He fails to comprehend

the gravity of the situation.

He says tomorrow. Tomorrow ?

But- but- What about the sad princess

who’s waiting for me

and the wicked sorcerer

who has her in his clutches?!

Alas, if only adults knew

what was important and what was not.

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