Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes

Mail carrier

I hear the postman’s footsteps fade away

An ancient book slipped through my door

Of a size, my letterbox could not explain

No way for me to know who sent it

What magic do I hold?

With shaking hands, I barely held the book in place

The pages turned with will unknown

I read strange words as best I could

These words, they changed once read, renewed

One thousand stories lay ahead

A map of red and gold, leading through forest glades

Four doors stand ahead, marked past, present, future unknown

Whichever you choose, your journey is guaranteed return

One question still remains, which one would you choose?

Should I read the book again, read the changes within?

Whose pen did write such magic?

One book with a thousand ever- changing stories

Must have come from door number four…