A gift from a friend,
Her mother's old book.
A bright purple cover,
With a red headed girl
And pages that rustled
Like crinkly taffeta in my hands.
Brown and yellow hues,
A gold mine of wrinkles.
My eyes searched the pages,
Shining like candles.
Their flame flickering over the words,
Quick to smile, quick to sigh,
Watching Anne's imagination fly.
Sailing through chapters with wings on my feet
But never getting up or leaving my seat.
Years went by,
Tons of time to smile,
Even more to cry.
But when a tear fell,
Or I saw red,
I always knew where to go:
Straight to Prince Edward Isle
Through the gate of a book.
Forgetting my problems,
They are devoured
Like a ship in a raging whirlpool.
As my mind drifts,
Flying through the pages,
Through the adventures of Anne,
Unhappiness is hurriedly pushed away
By a cool, refreshing wave of happiness.
Three years have passed.
Things have changed.
The book is worn,
Pages as smooth as a velvet sleeve,
Smalls rips littered across the pages
Like miniature canyons
In a world of paper and ink.
It stays on a shelf now,
Too old to be read.
No tears trickle down its old tired pages.
Its days are as quiet
As a cold winter dawn.
But it still is my ticket to another world:
My friend, my refuge,
And my favorite book forevermore.
Author's Note: This poem is about my favorite book ever, Anne
of Green Gables, by L.M. Montgomery.
