Why the Timbertoes aren't reality

the joy of knowledge books bring to me,

How ever, oh ever there could be A better place to dream You're a magician, or so it seems So real or even magical Some stories are sad or even tragical But in the end it's all okay You put up the book and go play.

Upon your return the words rise again, falling in worlds drawn from within the pen.

Rusty The Dog I remember well, Cocker Spaniel he was just as swell. Especially when he wagged his tail.

being unhappy, when your mind is free. Open that book, you start the race,

A Doctor Suess world with no Doctor Suess me.

My parents bookshelves stood taller than me.

With the reach of my hand and a turn of each page, I was the actor upon that bright stage. I sailed the waves of the ocean blue, or rode in the pouch of a kangaroo.

Why all these books do what they do to me. They make me laugh, they make me cry, they make me want make up weird rhymes.

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