One day or night, some time ago,
When things were quiet, still, and slow,

And nothing much was moving ‘round,
A special something-else was found.

It sat in wait, and waited, still
It was untouched, unmoved, until

The cover, accident’ly read
Left questions in the reader’s head.

Just how could such a thing be true?
It warranted a brief review,

A fleeting glance, a little look
At “The Never-Ending Children’s Book”…

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