She smelled of the stories she last read,
of the world she last lived in.
Those characters and stories still fresh in her head
loving that book from deep within.
When she told the story the world went silent,
not daring to miss a word.
Her voice casting an enchantment
her stories people devoured.
It seemed as if the ink from the paper,
had seeped into her skin.
Understanding every character,
every laugh, scream and grin.
And when she reads no one dares to disturb
lost again she is.
That spark in her eyes simply superb,
the smile when she reads, like hypnosis.
“One last chapter,” she lies to herself.
She goes on reading, time left uncared.
Another book she brings, from her big shelf,
to leave a book unfinished, she never dared.
Page after page she read,
finally finishing her book.
For books were something she deeply cared,
and with her thoughts the world she shook.