Still, so still. Ten seconds, twenty.
She’d read and spoke the words.
They were—everything, more than that!
On her tongue they’d been,
In her ears, her mind.
She knew they were now a part of her.
Knew it without knowing.
So, this was poetry! This!
“Poetry Of Olden Days!”
No, no, not old! Brand new!
And now her arms moved
As she pressed the book to her stomach
And a tear of pure happiness rolled.