I dreamt I was a bookworm, hungry for a book.
I slipped into a library--just thought I'd take a look.
I squirmed on down the aisles from A clear through to Z.
I slid from children's literature, right into to poetry.

Alas! I was exhausted. I stopped then in my quest.
I crawled into a volume, right next to *Edgar Guest.
He told of Sunday supper when his many friends dropped in.
So I pitched right in and joined him, midst the merriment and din.

I slithered on to #Shakespeare--I found him quite a bore.
But I read his poem, "Winter." Too cold, I read no more.
And then I heard "The Raven," by +Edgar Allan Poe.
His constant "tapping", "tapping" made me just want to go.

I wormed my way to @Woodsworth. I liked his rhyme and style.
"I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud." I stayed there quite awhile.
I saw his "host of daffodils that shine like starts at night."
Reluctantly I left him. I thought it only right.

I wiggled on to ^Whittier. John Greenleaf, that's his name.
He told of a Judge and a maiden, and of their secret pain.
"It might have been. It might have been." These words rang in my ear.
And suddenly I awakened. And I was still right here.

© Helen Dowd

* "Best of All Meals", Edgar A. Guest
# "Winter", by William Shakespeare
+ "The Raven", Edgar Allan Poe
@ "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud",. William Wordsworth
^ "Maud Muller", John Greenleaf Whittier