The Bookseller's Stories (Or, "The Child's Dream")

At the young age of eight years old, Gregory Mathewson was in utter admiration with books, but stories to be exact. Ah, what an age! What a time to explore worlds of unknown, characters of filth, of legendary acts, times of truth and lie, love and hate of man and beast. My sincerest apologies, I must stabilize my thoughts and keep to the story... Gregory could think of nothing better than to read in his bedroom, dark as molasses, but light in the very sheet he slept. A glowing eminence in which opened an entire world. Stacked high against his bed, his books were. Almost as tall as himself! 

Awakening of the morning, awakening of day, oh how the town was so gay. Streets lined with usual and newcomers, coming to see the new town as it was to be. Then came Gregory. He would often sneak out of the house to visit the library ravaging piles, miles of books. Cheerful folks passing by smiled down to the boy up to the forehead in books. But today, as opposed to going straight home, he caught a glint out of the corner of his eye. He knew he must go. But the town clock became so low. And he went. 

Author's Note

My intentions with this story is to insert poetry or at least poetry-like function into a story. Please feel free to advise, review, etc.

This is the first section of a five part story, starting with "The Child's Dream."

Enjoy