Silence In The Library** Poem by Neil Young

Silent until opened,
Perhaps more softly spoken than we thought,
Or loud, somewhat aggressive,
Uncompromised and unapologetic.

However they may speak,
They sit out for the most part of their lives,
Reclusive, and obediently quiet,
Resting like somnambulists asleep.

We wake them with the creak of spines,
Stiff at first, cold in our hands.
With a gentle touch we open pages, stroke them,
Hear them sigh.In turn, they give up secrets with a look.

It is a strange world they inhabit,
Behold the age-old creature, the book.