To my Books

I seldom see the facts I need to face -
their daunting freight forbids me to attend -
Histories sort through choices, case by case:
fresh as a fax, calm as requiem's end.

Without hope I'd be dead, or dead in soul,
but hope of all things needs integrity:
Fantasies show me dreams becoming whole
and tune my insight back to clarity.

Glory and Joy! Jewels and Jubilation!
Beauty that drills like lightning, pelts like hail!
Sorrow succumbs to sudden exultation:
Poetry leaps aloft! (and wags its tail).

   Books are my gentle teachers, leading me
   through light and truth, to love, serve and be free.