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”…
