Books to No End
I remember a time, when an aged youth spent the entire seasons in love. Always in love this man, and always on the move. Aged as the books he clung to, with fingers fit to only turn pages; on books worth turning at least. Able hands and steady mind did this man possess; in youth and now in age. Time's march has been kind, to him and his lovers; and many are their number. So many that entire cases are made to keep them safe, and keep them true; a stern man no doubt. Great tomes house his castle, and endless trove of knowledge and the hopeful turn of wisdom. Each day, a new lover, each day a new calling. A book a day, and a candle at night, is the calling of this first impression. You would do the same, in the presence of such amicable lovers.