She kept the tattered books because she knew the stories so well
They picked her up whenever she fell.
The plotting, the plundering
Got her through the lightening and thundering.
The worlds created let her escape
Through Secret Gardens or with a musketeer’s cape.
What fragments of foil she could collect
She would reconnect
Into flowers and swords
Tucked in between words
So when by chance there was a window sill or shelf
She could unfold the garden and blades she made for her elf.