April 19, 2016

The Library

By emtwytte

The aroma of aging paper and inks,
Drifts through and from
The forest of words
In clouds and rainstorms –
Arid winds and magic spells.
A tumultuous mix of stories
Remembered and relived,
Returned to mind and heart
With the slightest whiff
Of that familiar smell.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, April 19th, 2016 at 3:50 pm and tagged with , , , and posted in Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.

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