I learned to read,
to love reading
at school, I suppose,
or the combination
of there and home.
Dick and Jane, Jip,
the moon and stars,
cow jumping over,
Pipi L, Dolittle,
Curious George, Peter
Rabbit and so many
more depicted
delights became
pleasures too numerous
to pen here.
The adventures helped
ease existence in a
world kind one day,
cruel and confusing
the next.
Books became unfussy
friends, forever
dependable and
predictable while
shelves and shelving
waxed sacred.
Infinite images
etched themselves
an eternal abode
in a mind whose
grasps required no
light effort.
The resulting book-joy
proved worth it--
worth every
incandescent, every
bone and muscle ache,
every sleepy red eye.
So I learned to read,
to love reading.
Piece of cake
one later learns
when compared
with learning
to write