Past the 9 and 3/4 platform
Into the printed magic of words
On which you feed
The Waterstones says it all
No words, ironically, can do justice
To the joy of a bookstore, so we proceed
Across of me, you read
I think, in fact, I wish, to fall
Into such magical world of fiction
As a wearbook
Here I made up a word that I need
To turn into a book, in your hands, every night
For that I envy, in fact, I desire
To be of such a pleasure, for you to read