Treasure Island (Poem 2/24)

I turn the pages of my father’s book.

Grabbing my blankets,  I get cozy in a nook.

The soft moonlight caresses the first page.

It smells of old age.

The first sentence grabs my attention and I get sucked in.

It was so silent I could hear the drop of a pin.

Page after page, I kept turning into the after hours of the night.

I didn’t stop until first morning light.

Best adventure yet.

The craziest characters I ever met.

Who knew a book so old could be the best story ever told.

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