As a child, when I was still young and naive,
I kept searching for someone,
Someone who'd give me a book for free.
Walked into a bookshop, knocked on his door to ask the manager if he could give one to me.
But he just shrugged and shook his head.
Sent me to the publishers instead.
"Go ask there, child, and maybe
They'll give you a book for free."
So I went to the publishers, asked them too
While they tutted like they had better things to do.
Shrugging, simultaneously pushing me out the door,
"The paper factory!", they said, "Paper's what we pay for."
Then I went to that factory, belching steam and smoke.
I swear I thought it was their idea of a joke
When the workers there laughed at my query and said
"Go ask the tree!
Maybe he'll get you a book for free."
I stumbled through the woods, tired and worn,
My unswerving confidence silently torn.
No one! That I could clearly see.
No one could give me a book for free.
With the spirit that our young know best,
With a calmness and poise that belied the rest,
I sat down to refresh myself, contemplate.
To examine my innocent and childish faith.
I was so sure, you see, that I'd find that person who'd give me that book.
It was then that I realised what I'd always known,
The truth.
Books aren't about the paper or ink.
Those are the preservatives for the actual thing.
Books are about the words.
So you don't really need to ask the tree
Because in our hearts we have thousands of books just waiting to burst forth.
And they're all for free :)
Note: Maaybe, inspired a little bit by Fahrenheit 451. And I don't understand some of what I write myself, so feel free to interpret it however you want. If I figure out what I meant exactly, I'll let you know :)
Let me know what you think, honestly. I need feedback if I want to improve!
I kept searching for someone,
Someone who'd give me a book for free.
Walked into a bookshop, knocked on his door to ask the manager if he could give one to me.
But he just shrugged and shook his head.
Sent me to the publishers instead.
"Go ask there, child, and maybe
They'll give you a book for free."
So I went to the publishers, asked them too
While they tutted like they had better things to do.
Shrugging, simultaneously pushing me out the door,
"The paper factory!", they said, "Paper's what we pay for."
Then I went to that factory, belching steam and smoke.
I swear I thought it was their idea of a joke
When the workers there laughed at my query and said
"Go ask the tree!
Maybe he'll get you a book for free."
I stumbled through the woods, tired and worn,
My unswerving confidence silently torn.
No one! That I could clearly see.
No one could give me a book for free.
With the spirit that our young know best,
With a calmness and poise that belied the rest,
I sat down to refresh myself, contemplate.
To examine my innocent and childish faith.
I was so sure, you see, that I'd find that person who'd give me that book.
It was then that I realised what I'd always known,
The truth.
Books aren't about the paper or ink.
Those are the preservatives for the actual thing.
Books are about the words.
So you don't really need to ask the tree
Because in our hearts we have thousands of books just waiting to burst forth.
And they're all for free :)
Note: Maaybe, inspired a little bit by Fahrenheit 451. And I don't understand some of what I write myself, so feel free to interpret it however you want. If I figure out what I meant exactly, I'll let you know :)
Let me know what you think, honestly. I need feedback if I want to improve!
