Thursday, 11 September 2008

A poem by Edith Nesbit

From the dedication page of Five Children and It:

My Lamb, you are so very small,
You have not learned to read at all,
Yet never a printed book withstands
The urgence of your dimpled hands.
So, though this book is for yourself,
Let mother keep it on the shelf
Till you can read. O days that pass,
That day will come too soon, alas!

This is exactly how I feel about so many of our books!

(Image from Dymocks.)

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