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  • What can compare to thee, O book?
    Thou art like the sun come crashing in
    To a dirty room, dank and damp.
    I see you lighten up the room.
    My eyes rejoice to see your tinge.

    Thou art thunder roaring in my ears,
    Echoing in the brightly lit room.
    Like a sound spoke from across a gorge,
    My ears delight to hear your boom.

    Thou art like rain come pouring down
    In the open ceiling of the room.
    You wet my skin and stain your page,
    Which my fingers turn and feel your soak.

    Thou art the perfume of flowers
    Come drifting in the open door.
    You envelop me in your aroma
    And settle in your pages which I love to smell.

    Thou art like the taste of banquets and feasts.
    When I read your words I can taste the meats,
    Which you speak of and I love to read.
    You fill me better than anything else.

    You are a delight of the senses.
    And your value is immense.

    - Poem by Graceth Harleli, Canaan, NH
    Illustration of Emily Weatherill, Young Writers Project
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