The Gift Book — (To J. R.)
A book is a kindly gracious thing.
Each has a particular gift to bring.
It may be the wealth
Of a wonderful life,
Or the thrilling adventure
Of Jungle strife.
Perhaps it’s a present
Of orient gold,
Tales of Aladdin
Enchantingly told.
Maybe a view
Of olden days,
Knighthood—Romance,
Flowery ways.
And again a journey
To lands afar,
Where strange things happen,
And wonders are.
All of them—Gift books
But plainly I see,
Not one of them holds
The gift for me.
I want a book
That will lazily roam
Down the dear Pathway
To Folks back home.