Books, a poem by Jude Forrest.

An intense soccer scrimmage,

A fantastical starlet Archway,

A good book paints an image,

That carries you away.

A daughter sit within her room,

Eyes dancing up and down,

A book, tear away the day’s gloom

And takes away her frown.

Though even not fifteen years,

Her pure eyes hath not seen.

Life’s vile toil brings forth tears,

Love’s cold touch is mean.

Though through this escape,

She lives.

She thrives.

With her own character together,

She gives.

She dies.

So if thy mind,

Ever cluttered and took,

I find a good escape,

To be a good book.