The last time I truly got lost in a novel,
My house rather quickly resembled a hovel.
I had no time to clean,
I had no time to cook,
The one thing I had time for was reading my book.
I read and I read,
I could not put it down,
Until I’d devoured each verb and each noun,
It was hugely exciting, but took quite a while
To get to the end, amidst a growing pile,
Of wrappers and coffee cups and crumb ridden plates;
When I was done I looked round in distaste;
Distaste not at the mess, but the novel – my friend,
Completely distraught that my book had to end.
[I’m a big fan of young adult novels – I’d like to write my own one day – the one that inspired this poem was ‘Linked’ by Imogen Howson. I thoroughly recommend it.]