Come, you phantoms!

This task, surely,

 You will enjoy.

I will ask you

To hold many

Treasures – my

Precious things.

I can’t keep watch

Over them all; their

Beauty, though dusty,

Is far too much to behold,

Albeit in mine own eyes alone.

There are many heavy things here,

And these elect few are especially so.

I will call on you from time to time –

Sporadic, unannounced, expecting –

For you, silent sentinels, are

The only ones I can trust

To guard the Library.

The capacity to understand, I admit, I have not; how can I appreciate the glory of that which has been poured out upon me, the wonder of rain, and sunshine? It is overwhelming, to think of the laughter, the stories in blank verse, the faces. There is eternity set in our hearts, weighty, as ordained and immovable as that line which sets the point across which the sea shall not pass. These are things which are too high for me, things which I do not understand, wonder in whose midst I can only fall, and exult!

Come, and exult!

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