The last child that had entered

The Troll’s Bridge where I stay,

With teary eyes, besought me

To let her walk away.

 

She said her meat was awful,

For thin and frail was she,

And thus a bribe was offered

So that she could go free.

 

I touched the novel tribute

And asked what it could do.

She said it was a gateway

One's mind could travel through,

 

In which many a wonder

Continually unfurled–

Great wisdom and adventures

Within a distant world.

 

Strange was this tiny portal

That I held in my hand,

Wherein spread lines of black ink

I’d not yet understand.

 

“What does this say?” I asked her

And pointed at each word

Inscribed upon the surface

Above a stone-lodged sword.

 

She read each word with patience

And answered everything

I asked as though to quell my

Unending worrying.

 

At first, I was a skeptic,

But she encouraged me

To rest my doubts and plunge in

And with my own eyes see.

 

My fingers traced the cover

Of what she called a "book."

She swore there would be no harm

In taking one brief look.

 

I knew the words of mortals

But only vaguely so,

And thus, the girl would guide me,

Her voice serene and slow.

 

Soon, minutes turned to hours;

The sky in red was drowned,

And yet, I kept on listening,

Entranced as though spellbound.

 

At some point, she grew silent

And left me to my own

Device; I therefore stumbled

When faced with the unknown.

 

But slowly yet so surely,

I’d set a steady pace,

And pages were devoured

As time passed, without haste.

 

So lost within the stories,

I let the girl go free

With eyes fixed on the pages.

(I spoke unconsciously.)

 

I vaguely heard her offer

To come by once again,

And we could spend some moments

Discussing that book then,

 

But only if I promised

To stop my age-old way

Of eating luckless wanderers

"Agreed," to her I'd say.

 

(It was a silly promise

That I’d planned to betray,

But to my sheer amazement,

I’ve kept it to this day.)

 

Since then, she's come by often;

And brought a book each time–

News, journals, novels, essays,

Some fairy tales and rhymes.

 

No longer is she fearful

Of how I look and sound.

She’d say, "Within book lovers

Is where compassion's found."

 

So many years have flown by;

That girl's now aged and gray,

But every weekend, always,

She’d visit where I stay.

 

We’d spend the day perusing

The tomes both new and old

Inside my private study,

Whose shelves my treasures hold.

 

Her passion's ever radiant,

Unchanged since days of yore,

But I know she’s grown frailer

And slower than before.

 

Today, before she leaves me,

She suddenly turns to say,

“I'd like to introduce you

To someone if I may."

 

I pause awhile ere nodding,

And onward home she goes,

But in her eyes, I've spotted

The same excitement's glows.

 

The week goes by mundanely

Till weekend comes once more,

When I step out, discovering

Two people at my door.

 

One face I've long committed

Into my memory;

The other, young and chubby,

Right there surprises me.

 

It's like I’ve been brought back to

That fateful day of old,

On which a young girl showed me

A new world to behold.

 

Both foreign and familiar,

The child there lifts her head

And studies me intently

Without a hint of dread.

 

"This is my lovely grandchild,"

The elderly lady speaks,

"Who's always longed to meet you

And nagged at me for weeks."

 

A toothy smile adorns her

Expression, pure and bright;

Her little wave and greetings

Make my old heart feel light.

 

I sputter out a welcome,

Inviting them inside.

Her soft gasp of sheer wonder

Imbues my soul with pride.

 

"What book shall we be reading?"

My chuckling friend then says

And hugs the girl there waddling

To keep the child in place.

 

I turn to my collection

With countless options there

And smile down at the toddler;

"Your pick, child," I declare.

 

And for the first time ever

Within these bygone years,

The sounds of innocent laughter

Ring sweetly in my ears.