It is a sprite that takes my hand
In the library of leaves
Reads the words of trees
Gazes in the eyes of stars
And, reflecting, out from them.
And O, the sky, with storms thrown
Over its horizons,
As she dips her quill in combs
Of honey
And writes upon a dandelion,
One, Only One,
The One and Only Book she writes
Is the one we live in.
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