Guest
Underneath the willow tree, we’d sit and read all day, Lost in tales of wide-eyed kids, in lands so far away. With every turn of paper page, our hearts began to soar, Living out those fairy tales, we always craved for more. Barefoot in the summer grass, we’d race to story times, Adventures with the scarlet coats or mountains we would climb. Tear-stained pages from the laughs, the dreams of every night, In every little storybook, our world was pure delight. Pages of youth, a time we won’t forget, In every rhyme, the magic hasn’t left us yet. Innocent dreams, and whispered bedtime prayers, We’ll always have those storybooks, to guide us through our cares. Snow White and her seven friends, or Jack’s grand beanstalk ride, We conquered dragons, treasure hunts, with no place left to hide. The heroes in our bedtime tales, became our best of friends, The lessons learned in magic realms, where fantasies transcend. The years go by, the books wear thin, but stories never age, Inside those cherished paperbacks, our memories on stage. We’ll pass them on to others, like love that has no end, For in each yellowed storybook, a piece of childhood’s penned. As parents now, we share the joy, of stories old and new, To see the spark in little eyes, the same that once we knew. A hand-me-down of fantasies, where dreams are always seen, The legacy of storybooks, in every heart that’s keen.
