The smell of a book,
Of plaster and wood,
That smell has within,
Every book I’ve read.
Containing whole worlds,
A lifetime of lives;
Hatred and sadness,
Love, joy, and triumph.
Some places I can’t
Try to imagine.
Some places I can:
That are all too real.
Science and hist’ry,
Nature and cosmos:
These joys of my life
All came with that smell.
And so with a book,
Little else matters.
The universe is
Right there in my hands.