Fables by Megan Bobb

The hills are alive

With the sound of music

And I know that the greatest thing

Is that my heart is alive

With the sound of music

And I know why the caged bird sings

And how the bumblebee flies anyway

The ignorance to failure gives flight to its wings

And my heart the dawn of a brand new day

A lamp to light my darkened path

Is needed as I stumble oft

And fall onto my face and knees

And a far-off voice calls, “But soft, Child.

Don’t you know that’s the best place to be?”

For when you’ve taken your hardest fall

Feel like you can climb no more

Remember the Pilgrim’s Progress

And think what lies in store

For those who search for peace on Earth

And who venture to the earth’s core

Who circle this planet in eighty days

Which don’t make a dent in Arabia’s Nights

A young wife doomed by vow of a bitter heart

Tells a story like no other

Found in long abandoned corridors

Of a building long since obsolete

Bradbury’s truth on destruction

Come true for all to see

Stranded at a point in time

They thought they’d never reach

Relics of a time long past

Tales long deserted, a culture destroyed

Libraries closed, no questions asked

Imagination no longer a plus

Poetry forbidden, fiction prohibited

Cold, hard facts create more fuss

Nothing but stiff sobriety permitted

Charred, aging pages flutter by

As empty streets stand unused

From a modest home bursts a rallying cry

Against stark virtualities created to amuse

“Save the books, save the books, for they must not die!”