Belated Continuation...

So sorry it has been so long since my last entry. I kind of got lost in some other things.
Anyway, I left you hanging last time with a rough draft of a poem. Well, I was hoping some of you would try your luck at writing one of your own. I did some rewriting and complete overhaul and added more substance to the previous skeleton of an outline.

So, here is what I came up with. Let me know what you think, please!

Winter nights by candlelight she read—
...Snuggling into my sleeping bag.
Frostbitten and exhausted. Can’t sleep.
Awaiting the last hours till Edmund treks
with me to Everest’s peak. Standing side by side
atop the world. A wonderful feeling, but my
teeth were chattering so hard. I wanted off the mountain.
I don't like cold! ...
—until her mother brushed her hair
and tucked her into bed.

Springtime afternoons in the windy oak tree swing
she read more—
...Celebrating the passage of the 13 amendment.
A night out at the theater. She began wondering,
"What did they eat on a night out back then? I have
never seen a play at the theater, so this should be good."
"Oh no! He is down! The president is down!" she shouted.
She began to cry. ...
—until the dinner bell would ring.

Summer before the heat,
she read beneath the apple tree—
...Climbing into the cockpit with Earhart
to circumnavigate the earth. Headed
west for record flight.
A beautiful day over the ocean.
Nothing below but water, and a few distant isles.
Problem!
“Amelia! Amelia! Where did she go?"
Her voice trailed off.
Another of her heroes was gone. ...
—the pages turned as her fingers
let the words go free.

The autumn chill had no effect behind her father's shed—
...Covering the forest floor brilliantly colored
leaves lightly crunched beneath the moccasin
clad feet of the Mohawk hunters. Meat will fill
the birchbark canoes.
Smiling, she rolled over to see pecan leaves
fall into her long disheveled brown hair.
A long smile and giggles. ...
—as another book she chose herself finally was read.

Each year this ritual was repeated every blissful day—
...Finding the golden egg was her annual mission.
Failure was the usual result. Jealousy rose
against Jack. Stealing that darn goose was cheating.
But wait a minute! Delivering eggs was a bunny. He ran off
with Alice or laughed in briars.
"That’s not Easter!"
Slamming the book frustratingly she pouted. ...
—as father worked, mother cooked and neighbor
kids would play.

Month-by-month she fed her soul and mind
as she would slowly age—
...Library’s book-of-the-month bounced her
from bed. Joyous smiles lit her hazel eyes!
Princes and castles raced her heart. Love!!!
Slaying dragons and awakening kisses made
her blush. Her mom secretly smiled. Growing up.
But forever reading. ...
—more consumed as her eyes moved flowingly
across each page.

Weeks were filled with borrowed stacks from family
and friends—
...Weekly Reader’s came no more. The books de jour
were novels and romance. This armload went to
Grandma’s cedar chest.
Dreaming of cruising on ocean liners to Paris.
Flying to the Orient seeing herself in silk robes.
Falling in the arms of handsome gentlemen.
Living in Castles along the Mediterranean.
Thinking of having children, a boy and girl.
Teaching them to read.
She was a young woman all the way. ...
—and passed along to other kids as the lending never ends.

Day-by-day she cherished all the time the chapters quickly flew—
...Changing her routine. No more school, but early morning reads
before the house comes alive. Cooking breakfast as her mother did,
washing clothes and ironing. Waking up and dressing her baby girl with a smile; Not returned. Grouchy! Feeding and a date with Dr. Seuss. ...
—as her daughter, book in hand, the same as her mother grew.


Winter nights by candlelight she fantasized and read
until her mother brushed her hair and tucked her into bed.
Springtime afternoons in the windy oak tree swing
she read more until the dinner bell would ring.
Summer days, before the heat, she sat beneath the apple tree;
the pages turned as her fingers let the words go free.
The autumn chill had no effect behind her father's shed
as another book she chose herself finally was read.

Each year this ritual was repeated every blissful day
as father worked, mother cooked and neighbor kids would play.
Month-by-month she fed her soul and mind as she would slowly age
more consumed as her eyes moved flowingly across each page.
Weeks were filled with borrowed stacks from family and friends
and passed along to other kids as the lending never ends.
Day-by-day she cherished all the time the chapters quickly flew
as her daughter, book in hand, the same as her mother grew.