If I were a book

If I were a book

If I was a book I would be glossy paper,

large print, easy to read.

I‘d write my tale in diamond fonts, and pure gold ink.

My capitals would be from all over the world.

My story’s told in mystical full stops.

I’d rest on laps and windowsills,

Beside old mugs and daffodils.

No need for bookmarks, you’d just know

Exactly where you last let go.

I’d hum with quiet, trusted thought,

Each paragraph with meaning wrought.

No riddles, tricks or tangled clues,

Just steady lines you’d want to use.

You’d read me in the morning light,

Or deep within the folds of night.

My chapters short, my pages kind.

A calm retreat for heart and mind.

My spine would never break or bend,

No fraying threads, no early end.

I’d hold your laughter, tears, and grace,

And keep it safe in every space.

If I was a book, I’d wait for you,

Through winter rains and skies of blue.

No matter where or when you came,

I’d greet you soft, and call your name.

You would see me there in a shop on a stand,

The finest cover, looking grand.

If I was a book and you the reading kind,

You would never stop reading me.

My book would be that first-class kind.