A Book Is A Beautiful Thing Poem by Nancy Trembley

A book is a beautiful thing to me.
From the moment, I could read I was hooked.
A happy memory from childhood I'll never forget.
When I first learned to read simple books,
My mother signed me up for a book club for children.
Once a month it would come in the mail.
I would madly rip the cardboard mailing container,
And inside that bland skin, the most beautiful thing,
That I waited so patiently for,
Was finally here!
I would devour each page over and over.
And then the very next day I would sit on the stoop.
I would wait and wait, exactly twenty-nine days.
That little girl not understanding not comprehending
The amount of time, the amount of waiting.
But honestly probably, knowing that girl,
It wouldn't have mattered, she wouldn't have cared.
The waiting was part of the whole beautiful process.
Like a sentinel at a gate of make-believe and knowledge.
Waiting to receive a glorious heavenly vessel of ecstasy
In the form of words and pictures sandwiched and bound.
The feeling in my little, eight year olds, hands so proud.
I've always loved the smell of books, not only of the books themselves,
But especially those magnificent magical buildings that house them.
This childhood memory so distant now
But no less special or profound.
Because for me
A book is a beautiful thing.