Turn The Page
I turn a page, and then another,
And swallow every word with hunger,
’Til I have left this comfy sofa,
And found another flatter world.
It turns gently, supported by elephants,
Balanced on a turtles back,
It swims grandly through the stars,
And it is home to me, and flat.
I have felt cobbled streets through thin-soled boots,
Hunched against the rain just so,
Have raged against a monstrous world,
And run from werewolves in the snow.
I have flown through mountains, home to gods,
And said my prayers to blind Io,
I have danced with villagers, danced with winter,
And I have smiled to see him go.
I have taken tea with witches,
Had haircuts from beautiful barbarians,
Spoken with rats,
Conversed with a cat,
And over and over, I go there again.
So I cry at the loss of the creator,
The one who wrote of eggs and revolutions and strange rage,
But I will come to this place forever,
And I will turn another page.
3 years ago we lost an amazing writer, and I don't believe the world will ever see his like again. But a man's not gone while his name is still spoken. GNU Sir Terry Pratchett.
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