Edinburgh 🏰

​A cup of tea, a quiet room,
Where faraway adventures bloom.
She turns the page and shuts her eyes,
To dream of distant Scottish skies.

​She walks down streets of ancient stone,
To find a bookshop which feels her own.
A city made of ink and rain,
Calling out her name again.

​She breathes the scent of paper old,
Of magic tales and legends told.

While outside drops of soft rain fall,
She hears the old grey city call.
​A paper map, a heart so light,
She holds the dream into the night.