A Nook and a Storybook

Oh, give me a nook and a storybook there at my mother’s knee. Or tucked in bed, a pillow at my head as father reads to me. To hear nursery rhymes - wonderful times when Mother used my name inside a rhyme. Oh, for childhood sublime! Old age is not the same! Of Cinderella and a cute fella I used to listen to. Romantic the tale where all ended well, and love they said was true. But I’d graduate from my childlike state. Alone I soon would read less beautiful things, in which a prince brings no rose; instead, a weed. Oh, to return to before I could learn of life’s realities! Where endings were good I’d go if I could reliving memories. In that nook I’d be, my mother with me where books I’d learned to love. That would be enough because it’s the stuff fairy tales are made of!