Beloved, it would take me
One Hundred Years of Solitude,
beginning in 1984, to tell you of my
Pride and Prejudice before we are all
Gone With The Wind on our
Long Walk To Freedom.
Have I sinned? Oh, yes. I was no Lolita,
but Madame Bovary has nothing on me.
Then Lady Chatterley’s Lover got interested
in my Perfumed Garden. I seek Atonement
from The God of Small Things. If only I could
Eat, Pray, Love with A Suitable Boy.
It is The Story of My Life to speak of my
Great Expectations and Enduring Love.
To improve my posture in walking upright,
I balanced The Bible on my head.
The Life of Pi made me understand why
There’s A Zoo In My Luggage.
I will need Water For Elephants
from The Snows of Kilimanjaro.
Perhaps The Once and Future King or
The Little Prince might help me fetch it.
Harry Potter is too busy.
Dr Zhivago assisted The English Patient
when The Exorcist tripped over
The Shoes of the Fisherman
while trying to cover his Tracks for
The Great Escape from Frankenstein
and get On The Road.
I crossed The Bridges of Madison County
then via The Shipping News I booked
A Passage To India, expecting to travel
Around The World In Eighty Days. I got
Out Of Africa and spent Seven Years in Tibet
with The Prophet, The Alchemist and The Kite Runner.
I couldn’t go West With The Night because I had a
Fear of Flying over The Good Earth.
After it became All Quiet On The Western Front
I spent Tuesdays With Morrie and we
took a look at The Jungle Book.
Later, while I was Celebrating Silence,
The Thorn Birds were eating The Grapes of Wrath
and Jonathon Livingston Seagull was trying
To Kill A Mockingbird. I wanted to know
Who Moved My Cheese?
I got rather pissed when I read Schindler’s List
but I still got the gist that one has to resist
and always persist.
Gee, I broke into verse; it’s a bit of a curse
to start thinking in rhyme – it becomes my
Crime and (your) Punishment.
A Poem For Every Night Of The Year
brought me such good cheer.
It filled a gap in my soul and made me feel whole.
It was not what I planned when I read
The Wasteland to turn into a poet,
but wouldn’t you know it – it did.
I do like a story with a happy ending,
as well as tearful books that are heart-rending.
I can travel to faraway places and times,
or taste tales of murder and passionate crimes,
historic novels with peasants in hovels,
and nature study of animals and birds.
Such knowledge and drama conveyed in words!
The Book Thief better bring them all back,
because what I now lack and sorely do miss
is The Pout-Pout Fish who became kiss-kiss.
All these books do delight: I read late in the night.
But my future plight is that it might blight my sight!
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