Warm, safe, snuggled up against,
I wait for the magic of her voice to
rhyme me into other worlds.
Places with bears without buttons,
and Sneetches without stars,
of dinosaurs dancing and
dogs packed in cars.
Book after book until one day…
I can read by myself.
Dreaming of writing, I hold the pen,
and stories with voices come out of the end.
Hearing her voice, her rhymes,
I write to honor.
As she lay frail, sightless, my voice
now reads her to magic places far away.
My words painting pictures for her to see,
thanking her for all that I am and will be.
© 2016, RissRyker518. All rights reserved.
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