Books

 
Some folks have said that it’s the smell,
And others it’s the feel.
Some say it lies in the escape
From anything that’s real.
 
Some are lured by fantasies,
Others by the true,
Some by mysteries and danger,
Some by romance, too.
 
But I have found the charm to be
The unjudgemental friend
I find each time I open
And read a book again.
 
Do books care if the dishes lie
In greasy, unwashed state?
Are pages worn with time annoyed
On days when I run late?
 
I’ve never heard a volume voice
Disdain at what I wear,
Nor have they cared the smallest bit
Just how I fix my hair.
 
Never has a dusty tome
Turned with grandeur and
Spread gossip about other friends
Or made a reprimand.
 
And so I think perhaps ought all
Of us within the nation
Take this chance to learn from them—
This steadfast publication.
 
For books have never changed their minds,
They’ve never two-faced been.
As long as you choose wisely,
They’ll always be your friend!