A Lyrical Tale

In the hidden realms of innocence's bloom,

There lies a treasure, a storybook's room,

Weathered and worn, but so cherished and dear,

A muse that whispers of childhood's frontier.

With pages adorned in delightful prose,

A portal to realms where imagination flows,

Bound by time, where nostalgia resides,

This gem of my past forever provides.

Oh, dear Storybook, with tattered attire,

Your worn pages hold memories that inspire,

On quiet nights, when the world's noise does cease,

How you unfold the chapters of youthful peace.

Within your worn cover, a gateway appears,

To the land where adventures knew no fears,

I dive headfirst into tales untold,

Escaping reality's grip in your stronghold.

In the attic's embrace or beneath moonlit skies,

Wrapped in your words, the magic never dies,

With my trembling fingers, I turn each page,

Reliving the tales, akin to a stage.

From knights and dragons to pixies so small,

Your stories echoed dreams, both big and small,

You whisked me away to wonders untold,

A portal to joy, where dreams could unfold.

I traipsed along forests, where fairies would dwell,

Danced with the stars, as far as they'd swell,

Painted the skies with vibrant hues,

Oh, Storybook! How I'd long to peruse,

The tales etched in ink, forever abiding,

With each illustration, my heart still confided.