she danced across the sands of time
and without pausing in her routine
reached across the bay
and handed me a book
unopened but from it
a cinnamon melody wafted
in my dreams i opened it
and eagerly devoured
all that i found within
was it story, poem or treatise
some philosophical tangent?
i will never say for now
i cannot remember
isn’t that the thing?
silly isn’t it, to consider
that a life might be changed
by words so small
in a book so cheaply bound
but then you know how the old saying goes
the best things come in the most unlikely
of packages
if i could find truth in a back alley
and know for certain
i’d not be shy about admitting the fact