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.