In a Knot of a Sycamore Tree

Under the cozy multicolored quilt I was sitting just fine. In walked my mother with nightshirt of lime. She said choose a book from the story book elf. He had put them all high upon my tallest wall shelf. I was tickled to pieces, for her reading was great. Also it means I would be able to stay awake really late. I chose my favorite about Peter Pan and Wendy. She got into my covers, and cuddled with me. The kerosene gasoline lamp gave just the right glow. Her voice was magic, just the right amount of joy and woe. She read so well, my eyes kept trying to close. Where she got this reading prowess, only her angel knows. In a twisted knot hole of this comfortable sycamore tree I found a love for fairy tale stories that would always be. To this day when I take them down from my own little shelf I hear my mother’s soft voice, and I thank the story book elf.