Monday, January 25, 2016

House of Books

I wrote the basics for this poem back in November while I was resting one afternoon, in between being stepped on by a horse and supper being ready.




Dedicated to my mother, who taught me that the greatest thing about books is what can happen when you share them.


House of Books
Annie Louise Twitchell

I made a house of books.
I built the walls up high;
I built a door of hardcovers
and tightly closed my eyes.

I made a house of books.
Like a hermit, lived inside.
All alone with the words
until I wanted to cry.

I made a house of books,
and opened up the door.
I opened up the windows
and opened up some more.

I took the books away,
and revealed something new.
I had a house already,
and in that house, was you.

We made a house of books,
lined the walls with shelves.
Put curtains on the windows,
made the words ourselves.



And a image copy because I love you guys and also because I got bored the other day and decided to have some fun with Paint, OpenOffice, and Snipping Tool.



Copyright 2016 by Annie Louise Twitchell