Mumbling rain tip-taps on the sill
Taps upon the sill
Gently on the sill
I don’t want to go outside
Out into the cold, the wet
I seek refuge in my library
Where I know I’ll find peace
That secret peace, that enveloping warmth
The crackling fire, the overstuffed chair
The draping of Turkish shawls and the sweet fog of candlelight
The garden is alive,
I can see it through the window
Dew drops turn to rain drops and the
Roses are in bloom
I wander, aimlessly, seeking through the shelves
In search of what today?
Romance?
Mystery?
Sorrow?
Redemption?
Truth?
Ah, but what is truth?
Truth is not for the books
The books are for stories, for lies
For sweet fantasies untouched by Fate.
We find what truth we need in the books
What truth we need at the time
We take it, we store it, deep within
On the shelves of our heart’s library
That secret peace inside our souls
Tip-tap, tip-tap of rain
I find the volume I seek
It hasn’t had time to gather dust, for I read it
Again and again
Its pages well worn, it knows the feel of my fingers
And welcomes my eager-searching eyes
Night falls
The rain grows stronger
But the fire is alive, the books are my comfort
While the roses weep I am taken in again.