Book cases are towering mountains,
A chair my vessel across the seas,
An open expanse of floor is lava,
My parents’ legs the trunks of trees,
And all I need is hardback magic
To fuel my escapade,
Recruiting new friends each fortnight
By way of a reluctant trade
With the woman behind the counter
Who, with a familiar bleep,
Scans my little card and wakes
My companions from their sleep.
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