I could live all by myself,

Yet never be alone.

Two covers and a spine,

Can make a charming home.

Wallpaper of rustling pages,

Songbirds warbling in verse,

Books here and there stacked for a chair,

Within their covers; the universe.

Paper people breathed to life,

when day is a lonely hour.

Each page turned a new friend earned,

my memories; pressed flowers.

I cannot live without a book,

Each one a stranger turned friend.

My life is filled with chapters;

all stories in the end.