Imagine there were no books
No library, bookstore or reading nook
No texture of brand new pages
Or second hand through the ages
No charity shop with rows and rows
Of tomes filled with fiction and prose
No dusty smell of ancient scrolls
No gazing into characters souls
No romances, no horror, no adventure, no crime
No travelling back and forwards in time
No handsome hero to sweep you away
As you read the pages every day
No passionate kisses, no bosoms heaving
No tears or sadness when our hero’s leaving
No twisted tales to give you a fright
As you read huddled up in your bed at night
No vampires, werewolves or moaning ghost
No deciding which scares you the most
No sharpened knives slicing skin
No crime books waiting for you to dive in
No strangled necks, no shotgun sound
No murders or burglars around
No handsome policeman to catch the crook
To solve the crime by the end of the book
No autobiographies of famous faces
No colourful descriptions of faraway places
No amount of technology will replace the book
To touch, to smell, to feel
To hold in your hands what’s real
Stories written on endless pages
Will continue down the ages.