Turn The Page - a poem for Pratchett

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.