The Library

peeking through the rows,

the spines and the sides facing you

in their orderly platoons:

tin soldiers arranged by innocent hands,

eager eyes turned up to yours.

the stories whisper to each other,

in tones of turning pages

and sniffling noses

and scratching pencils

and ideas leaking out, from the stories

and from the imaginations around you.

the colors and the shapes,

the words and the symbols,

all call to you and say,

"me next! I won't let you down!"

and so, we lovingly pick them up,

like the adament child

insistent on attention.

and we coddle and cradle them,

whispering sweetly still,

in the exchange of ideas,

through turning pages

and unleashed imaginations

in the library.