Strange Dust
My literary collection, it does increase;
I love to read my library of books;
a collection that I’ll never cease,
to enjoy in my safe, reading nook.
Such wonders of places, oh so fare;
I revel in their masterful stories.
Sitting in my favorite chair,
my heart sings of heroic glories.
Though, yesterday, I chose a book;
to go with my glass of chardonnay.
I sat down in my reading nook
and turned a strangely, dusty page.
The dust, opaque powder, lay upon
the first few pages of my volume;
as dust on the hoof of a fawn
that has yet, to be groomed.
Strange was the feel as I brushed
light, ethereal, velvety;
near magnetic to the touch
engulfed me with static energy.
No other thought, did I give
but read my chapters, eagerly.
That dust from some mysterious sieve;
what put it there, I would soon see.
As I awoke from a coughing choke
and went down stairs for a drink;
what I saw must be a joke,
I had to double blink.
What I saw through the library door;
something moved, perhaps a light, I think.
It was reading on the floor;
it’s hair, a golden pink!
It couldn’t be, no sir’ee,
they simply don’t exist;
but, there it was a bloom’in faerie;
surrounded by a dusty mist.
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