Rose dreamed she was a Lily,
Lily dreamed she was a Rose.
Robin dreamed he was a sparrow,
What Owl dreamed, no one knows
But they all woke up together
As happy as can be.
Each said, you're lovely neighbor
But I'm happy being me.
It might be a little blurry, but this is Bookworms shirt from when she was much smaller. It is now pinned up to her notice board. I want to keep it in her room while she grows. It's not a book, but a perfect example of what books can and should do.
I'm sure every child has been told about the wonderful transportive power of books, bringing us to new places and giving us new experiences, if only in thought, so that we can relate better to others. That is a wonder all it's own, but stopping there falls short of a complete explanation. A book should also transport us back home again with a new love of home or a desire to change it. Books are not merely escapism. They are reality changers.
It also reminds me of
this song.
There is the front door for patrons, a side door for the Very Important, who can't be seen with Hoi Poili, but the door from which I wish to enter The New Globe Theatre is tucked unceremoniously in the back, right next to the sign that says I shouldn't be taking this picture. This is the stage door, best for storming out of as a ingenue, sneaking into as a chorus member to snag the over emotional ingenue's part, and smoke breaks for people who will never admit to smoking on their CV's.
