STORY HOUR

Every day at half
past 10,
We'd climb on mamma's
lap again.
To be transported
oh so well
In the stories
she would tell.

We'd visit lands
of kings and queens,
of shining knights
and fairy dreams.
On gossamer wings
spread so wide
we'd climb the peaks,
we'd forge the tides.

We were invincible
or so it seemed,
Emily, Spot and
Mamma and me.

We'd visit kingdoms
long since past
and gaze for hours
through the
looking glass.
Of authors before
us who cared enough
To weave their magic
themes and such
and transport two
small girls afar
to that wonderful
place called the
story hour.

© Lady Hawk