The Echoing tone
of polished stone
floors of a palace
I call my home
fix-ed walls
surrounding tomes
swiveling shelves
secrets dwell
where the adventurers
fear to delve
lit expressively
at the desk
A Child's request
fearful as
the reply,
in light of decades
gone awry...
unwilling to disrupt
even dust
"certain things
must not
be mussed,"
In accents affected
we simply haven't
the funds for that, my dear.
Sweeping gaze around here
gone the days
of bliss, now fear.
copyright M.E. 2012, all rights reserved
