When books were special to me.
Oh I still enjoy them well enough,
But now, when I have all the books
That I could ever want,
They no longer satisfy my needs.
I’ve lost something I once found so dear
I held them close like lovers.
I see them but no longer cherish them
Like I did when I was young,
Don’t caress their precious sides,
Inhale the perfume of their paper,
Fall asleep with one across my chest
Rising and falling with my breath.
Once I had to journey far to find them,
Ventured to the library downtown
Knowing I could only bring a few
Back to my room with me
And that for but a week or two.
Now I’m host to hundreds
Like an ink and paper harem
By my hearth. How could I think
My special love could last,
Think my special love could last?
©2017 John I. Blair, 11/25/2017