A gift is given to another's heart
As soon as words are spoken and read to
Her so they might seem as a wind blown dart
And love for the books and words say not "Shoo."

Endless pages flow at her touch
Letters scrawled in dark black and deep blue ink
Words or differing legnth can seem too much
And flittling pens flick ink on coats of mink.

Long dark hair pushed back so impatiently,
Bright brown eyes downward on leather bound book
No one so competely intent as she
As she sits in the same cozy chaired nook.

In a grand library she seems to live
And with each book read, more knowledge they give.