Books, why have you been on my mind? Do you desire me to refine?
I began to manuscript you years ago; now you’ve given me new ideals.
Who wants to know? Would anybody look after you? Or is it just a fabrication.
Books o’ books—I am fond of them. I care to check’em out and read’em.
There are times I drink a cup with’em; and other times, I breath’em.
I also lay myself to sleep by their side; even on the wayside, I befriend’em.
My favorite books, they're tagged along to the ocean waves on the bayside.
I’m surf’n on the body board; and there is my rip’n page, hang’n by a thread.
When the sun is brightly shining, I’m still smiling at there face till the beauty of a sunset.
Another day gone by, books, there you are again at the dawn of a new morn’n.
Give me a season to renovate, research, and recover from the enjoyment.
Then, inclinations may arise to refresh my memory of your new arrangement.