I strolled along with Shakespeare,
beneath a full, midsummer's moon.
Caught fireflies with Steinbeck,
though our parting was too soon.
I hitched a ride on Twain's raft,
drifting lazily downstream.
Sipped sweet tea with Faulkner,
and lost my mind to dreams.
I took a quest with Tolkien,
he has such traveling friends.
Solved puzzles with Conan Doyle,
even the master can pretend.
I fell asleep with Hawthorne,
clutching tight to every breath.
Dreamt dark and twisted nights with Poe,
weeping soft for childhood's death.