Books bound by fragile wrinkled hands
Or joined by man's devices
How little it may matter to a reader
Aching only for a sweet taste of wisdom
Lines fill with letters meant to squeeze
And ring their finest colors
Hear the soft, faint sounds of solitary breath
Collected vapors singing--in a book
---Susan Farrar 2009
Nicely put! I miss literature…
La torre de la vieja iglesias y la pared del jardin estan negras por la lluvia de otoño, y desolados vientos premonitorios llaman de vuelta la oscuridad.
Emily Bronte