A book is like a seasoned
oak, a fortress strong
A growing tower to climb; to puzzle from its pages
Green leaf in drought, fresh hope in trialed life:
Strength from another’s, shared written vision
Hard substance, yet made of
the stuff of dreams
As a forming fabric in unknown
casks of aged wine:
A vineyard in the depths
of an old oak, an old book
Drink to be decanted,
poured into any willing vessel
With no wasted word, for
those who climb to read
Through their upward
lifted, pierced hands and feet
Poem
from a Sequence:
A Rain of Booklight
Part 1 # 35
Part 1 # 35
© Judith Evans
Deverell, 2014
The
Bookmark Project
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