Between The Covers Poem by Mary Champion

Back then, all it took
was to open a book
and I'd find myself far from the drab world outside.
I passed through that door,
where I could explore
places and ages a universe wide.

And time after time,
I'd read the first line,
then break free and fly from my cosy arm chair,
my nerves tingling tight
with fear or delight,
no mere observer - because I was there.

There in the highlands;
lost Treasure Islands;
jungles and deserts, cities and hills,
magical places,
like outer space is,
tasting the terror and feeling the thrills.

Ruthless assassins,
beautiful heroines,
witches and wizards, fairies and elves,
bandits and brigands,
cowboys and orphans,
bizarre and exotic, with startling lives.

Adventurous; daring;
brave and unsparing,
rip-roaring characters, quite unlike me.
Adventure; sensation,
despair and elation;
worlds to inhabit vicariously.

My Mum said to me,
as she shouted out 'Tea! '
'I do swear, if our house was burned down,
your nose in a book,
no way would you look,
or notice a thing till the pages turned brown.'

But grown up's unfair,
you have to be there.
You cannot escape from the adult regime.
I can open the book
but now, when I look,
I'm reading the words, but not living the dream.