Hear me marvel in my mirth;
I sat amidst the scent of books
And seeing some magic of research
I had my sense of wonder shook.
Two volumes from vast shelves I took
Both blue, large Lepidopteron tombs.
Oh clever me, to have a look:
a sad hope that my verse improves.
I saw, sat in this lilac room,
Crawl amongst the livre’s leaves
A ladybug content with plume
Of pale pastels and jacket sleeves.
Or injured with disabled dreams
Of flying from the factoid fold,
Just crawling through the scrawl. I gleaned
How words will ask one to behold
Gleaming life in braille so bold
To prick a finger, stung or bit.
Such simple joy books are to hold,
that even larvae love what's writ.
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