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By John I. Blair

Books were in my life
Since earliest remembrance,
As if I had been born
Into a story.

I played with books
Before I had begun
To understand
What writing meant.

I touched them, smelled them,
Heard the whispering pages turn,
Made imaginary worlds
Using books as blocks.

I learned to read
Sitting in my Motherís lap
Looking at the letters
While she hugged me.

As I grew my book love grew;
They were my companions
Day and night, beside my toys,
My dog and cat, my brother.

Eventually my world
Was built on books,
As I wandered through
What I conceived as scholarship,

Years of study, work,
Of reaching out to wisdom
Surrounded by my books
(And their surrogates, computers).

But now I wonder:
What might I have missed
When I so gave myself to glue,
Paper, ink, the printed word?

©2016 John I. Blair

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