Timeless Joy

I squat in my nook, holding a thick book, and read.

I take part in the eternal partying as I read.

Noone knows how it started, or who read the first starlit or windy sky.

Maybe a spiny anteater read the first shyer fly’s passing by.

Is that how it started, the timeless art of reading?

It will go on like a forbidden ball, always hidden, always withdrawn,

until the last eye reads the last line of this world’s library hall,

until there’s nothing more and noone left to read at all.

Noone knows how it started, or who read the first starlit or windy sky.

It’s my private treat, a discreet joy, as the years are ticking by.

I take part in the eternal partying as I read.

I squat in my nook, holding a thick book, and read.

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