sometimes I am
overwhelmed by words-
the countless human voices
shouting to be heard. and then they
ask you what you love, and
what you read- and you must
scrabble for the words they
want and need. but all the
great ideas are blurry in your
mind - what really sticks are
those old friends you left behind
amongst the cushions and the
trees you knew when smaller-
the battered books familiar:
easy smiling caller
who knows the way into
your mind so very well, that you
don't have to put your thoughts to
show-and-tell. and all the places
in those stories feel like
home- they are the sea, and
all these new books seem just foam.