I hope everyone has exciting plans for the weekend.
My chosen poem this week is by Robert Louis Stevenson and the poem explores how imagination creates a whole new world for a child to play in.
The Land of Story Books At evening when the lamp is lit, Around the fire my parents sit; They sit at home and talk and sing, And do not play at anything. Now, with my little gun, I crawl All in the dark along the wall, And follow round the forest track Away behind the sofa back. There, in the night, where none can spy, All in my hunter's camp I lie, And play at books that I have read Till it is time to go to bed. These are the hills, these are the woods, These are my starry solitudes; And where the river by whose brink The roaring lions come to drink. I see the others far away As if in firelit camp they lay, And I, like an Indian scout, Around their party prowled about. So, when my nurse comes in for me, Home I return across the sea, And go to bed with backward looks At my dear land of Story Books. Robert Louis Stevenson