I once sat quietly and read,
the books were like tombs for the dead
before me, I knew just what
was in each plot.
My body sat there inside,
tree branches crossed panes outside,
bored me and crept to and fro,
green leaves gained an ochre glow.
Amazed, to the daylight my eyes
turned, but couldn’t surmise
themselves what it was or how
it struck their light surface now.
Oh, then how my poor heart hungered,
and so trembled and hankered,
so dry and it would not rain
and each day passed in vain.
I sat in those days of light –
my heart raced in endless flight –
I sat using my eyes and head
it all seemed like tombs for the dead.