Libraries Are Nurseries of Changelings

Person of few words
And quiet footfalls,
The night reader curls

In the lamp’s circle,
Sheltering a book
Like a parent might

An infant. It’s sweet,
And almost holy,
And the words are glad,

But it’s eerie, too,
This creche, this temple—
While you circle us,

We’re nourishing you,
And later we’ll move
To others through you.