People sit in draughty sunlight, Not a sound from that book bound place
And ponder what next, what tales of derring do
Worlds enough and even more time, for the next place that fills our dreams.
Rows and shelves of quiet words waiting for the dreamer's soul to wake a world,
shake the dust off and spin in a whirlwind of fury and imagination.
Rows and rows, light bouncing off shiny covered book and helpful eyes stand at the front door
Quietly shouting children whisper and giggle at lurid covers of romances that swell the hearts of an older bosom…
Deserts and seas fill the inner eye as far as can be, what monsters lurk deep beneath that sandy and deep briney blue.
Tables and chairs fill with dreamers and imaginations that soar in the dusty afternoon air.
Time stops and for a while we are somewhere else, scudding along with the clouds of a mountain vista, alien world or quiet street.
I live in those words, and they live in me, in that special place of the soul…the library.
