Your embossed cover winks at me
As the sunlight peeks through the curtains.
I trace my finger down your gold-gilded spine,
Between the drooping wings
And over the indented letters of your name.
At first, you were just an assignment,
A necessity to pass with flying colors,
And occasionally a paperweight.
Now you are a bright new friend
Full of heavy, ancient hearts
That converse with forked tongues.
You speak of serving and ruling,
Which is better, but what of we few
That want to do neither, who only want to live
Near the Blessed Garden, if we are barred from entering?
Where did we land after the Fall?