An adroit runner,
Living in plethora of hardbound texts,
Makes a way - way out,
Out of the common mass.

Sharing nights in paper,
Digging up a hole and cuddling in,
An adroit runner
Worships the abundance of the ink.

She will not perturb herself when time's out.
Nights are days. She has no time to speak.
Wonder,
Whether it cajores her to be stout
Wonder,
If it cuts her weak.

I won't beard the lion's den
An adroit runner
Will run on and then
She will lead me in,
So sane.