Hidden on the old oak bookcase,
Sits a million words unseen,
Wondrous worlds not yet travelled,
Mysterious plots pleading, to be unravelled.
Endangered characters fret in flattened pages
Calling courageously when I pass,
Boldly battling inside the covers,
Extinction evident, if they remain undiscovered.
Alice still chases her White Rabbit,
While he stupidly stresses over time,
“I’m late, I’m late” I hear him squeal,
Is his world really that unreal?
One day I’ll sit upon a wishing chair,
And free each character as I read,
But I need my White Rabbit to sit still,
So I can stop, search beyond covers, and save them all.
Author: Richelle M.F.