I find myself wandering among books once again
Seeking their refuge of ink, paper, and calm
Breathing in the scent of pages unturned
Feeling the weight of words in my palm.
Among these towering shelves stocked to the brim
I read and I write with strange ease
I may pick up or drop words with naught but a whim
A domain bound by all that one sees
Today I found myself in a truly strange store
One that revels in the exchange of text
A discount for those who offer new words
In exchange for the words they read next
A book caught my eye as I wandered those shelves
Foucault’s Pendulum, to be precise
Perhaps a good read, only time will tell
I’ll take this as variety’s spice
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