Ode to Harry Potter
J. K. Rowling gave meA set of stories
That she created herself
With her imagination,
Seven stories as beautiful as flowers
I opened them up
As if they were seven boxes
Lined with magic and love
Lovely stories,
My head was filled with adventure,
Moments of humor
Times of love, hard-won
With horrid battles,
Many tears,
My mind was flipped over by these heartwarming stories.
They were so strange the first time
My thoughts felt inferior
Like eggs over-easy
Eggs unworthy to be eaten
By a princess.
Nevertheless, i refused the temptation
To keep them safe like children
Keep wet leaves,
Like paleontologists
Keep fossils,
I refused the impulse to put them
On a shelf and each day dust
The wood on which they sat.
Like castaways on an island
Who sadly destroy the rare silver coins
And use them for scrap metal with remorse,
I cracked my knuckles and opened
The magnificent books and then got my bookmark.
The moral of my ode is this:
Though they may be beautiful
Books cannot be appreciated
Unless read over and over
And shared with the world.
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