With nights spent listening to old-time fairy tales napping on granny's lap, so by her fingers shoveling miracles into his head,
With days spent counting along with the pages of a fantasy novel, most likely Harry potter.
And on one fine dawn, becoming a story himself for others to be read over and over again.
Somewhere between granny's miracles and Rowling's masterpieces,
Somewhere between granny's miracles and Rowling's masterpieces,
he found himself as a writer on the verge of his pen's nib. Just like that.
Comments
Post a Comment