At Hartfield Books
by Ann Hart
There are enchantments here
And when I say here I mean trapped
Between covers, woven into pages
Laid out - black on white
Waiting to be released
To hover in our heads
If that sounds like birds I mean birds
I mean trees too, and hives of bees
Heroes and rogues and wizards
I mean fireflies and fishing flies
And a pipe organ forsaken on a wagon train's trail
When I say enchantments
I mean stories to fill a warm summer night
And a lazy Sunday afternoon
To be savored & delighted in
To be carried like identical touchstones
Different in each pocket
Though the words may be the same