The smell of the polish, the shine of the oak,
the rustle of books when nobody spoke.
The words and the pictures and the secrets inside
a silent world, a good place to hide
until open the book and the words jump out
and the knowledge and detail and stories about
history, language, science, the world,
wonderful facts marvellously unfurled

And the Mills and Boon ladies read tales of romance
and the chaps ask for woodwork, fishing or dance
and the men in the reading room always took ages
to peer at racing results through the blacked-out pages

And the children, cross-legged in a half-circle round
wide eyed at the story with hardly a sound
as the librarian takes them, with wonder on their faces,
to lands of castles and fairies and far away places

And the librarian with bun and glasses on nose
files cards with precision till the library closed
and the knowledge that was gained
from those books every day
I suspect even the trolley has something to say