0234 The Book To The Reader Poem by Michael Shepherd

The book said:

I serve you. And
as you take from me, I
give myself to you; even
before you begin
to read me.

I note how gently
you pick me up from
where you laid me down,
pausing just before you touch me; and
I feel your mind surrendering
with relief all other matters which
weigh down the mind; as one
who sheds his clothes and dives
into cool, clear water on a sunny day

and when you begin to read me, I
feel your hands, not gripping me but
sensing the film of air between
your hands and my cover; the lovely
detachment of a shared love; you
respect me for my outer self as
you respect what I have to give

and when you put me down,
you put me down so tenderly,
first looking for the perfect place
to leave me; with, I sense,
an inward sigh of satisfaction, gratitude, but which
meets the sigh of parting; like
the parting pause of lovers

and, like lovers who have grown old together,
we put out of mind the passing sigh of
yet a different kind; that one of us one day
will be – not the first, that’s easy – but
the second one to go… that’s
the eternal test of love: loss to be measured
against gratitude, the final laying down
on the altar, of the book of life

all this I appreciate;
did you too know this? are we not
fortunate in each other, you and I?

said the book.