Posted: 2014-10-25 17:24, Edited: 2014-10-25 16:24
The Bookworm and the Kindle
I am a little bookworm.
I am literary caterpillar.
I like the works of H.G. Wells,
And plays by Arthur Miller.
But suddenly technology
Has stung me from a spindle.
For someone introduced me to
A tablet called a Kindle.
Apparently it holds inside
A library full of pleasure
That little bugs like me can rifle
And peruse at leisure.
And so I bought the latest one,
Before the stocks did dwindle.
But I had not an inkling
What it meant to own a Kindle.
Of course I don't have fingers.
So I crawled across the screen.
More apt thought I, than burrowing.
Gosh. I was really keen.
But as I moved, the type kept
Getting larger and then small.
Then suddenly there wasn't
Any writing there at all.
I'd reached the right hand-corner
And I'd bookmarked on the page,
And to get back where I started,
Well it really took an age.
There was nowhere for a nap;
No tasty paper I could chew;
Just horrid hard old plastic.
And, you know that wouldn't do.
So listen up, all bookworms.
Don't be lured by tales so grand
That you'd think you'd bought a bookshop.
You really must understand.
If they say they're for bookworms,
Then they're trying to work a swindle.
Stick to the trusty paperback.
Leave humans to the Kindle.
Copyright: Ruth Twyman
Thank you Ruth.