Dreaming Spires
Dreaming spires set high above
my dreaming head.
My longing imagination planted
here at the Bodleian.
A library 400 years old, ancient
books next to modern readers
sat at desks, warm glow of lamps
seen through tall windows.
From the outside looking in
my hearts skips in joy.
The presence of books does
that to me, every time.
One night, so cold and still,
I rested my head so close to these
dreaming spires, just feet away.
The library filled my dreams and
filtered through the walls,
a deep wholesome sleep.
Did books fill my dreams?
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