I knew the magic of books before I could even read.
I could see it in my daddy’s eyes as his books planted seed after seed.
How restless he became as he finished a story, that ongoing endless need,
To find another and begin again, hunger that he has to feed.
The twitch of his finger, the glint in his eye, you could almost feel him heed,
The call of a tome to begin page one to see where it would lead.
And there’d be no rest till all had had been read, till he finished the mysterious deed.
Then he’d hungrily sift through the scattered books on the floor, tossing weed after weed,
Till a smile lit his face as he held the next treasure on which he’d taken a bead.
Oh yes, I knew the magic of books, long before I could read.
-KATHI HARPER HILL