The sound of paper pages turning,
The smell of ink and words so yearning,
The eyes fall gently upon the words
That want but only to be heard.
The tell tale signs of disaster,
Or shrill sounds in your head of laughter,
Leave them lonely for but a while
And find yourself quite beguiled;
The calling, crying, craving books
That fill your shelves will have you hooked,
You won't be able to live without
The smell of ink brought about
Only by reading the books so yearning
Who only want their pages turning.
I wrote this last night. I'm in a book-type mood. I've also been losing myself in Potter's world, where there are quite a few little poems/riddles that have this rhyming pattern.
So yeah. :-) I hope you like it.