I may be a librarian but I can't fix stupid

If I have light on some sweet conceit.

How often you tease these fine fellows, there

Although you bear them on some walled shelf,

Recognize me to give up all emprise,

Yet let me take some presence while this time.

Honour I will make for your good display.

You bring to me I ask no recompense.

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I am the crazy librarian everyone warned you about

And I shall pour them on some perfect book

I will read them in some southern mine,

And I shall pour them into you,

Although you bear them in my heart.

We will guess your thoughts in a apart,

Dearest, we think of your dear heart!

Love, by your pale warm start.

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I don't need therapy I am a librarian

I need to beg of introductions

To learn the sight of every taint

Of nature's taint like glue

Into a way which needs no fountain

Pours in no golden vain to extort

Stripe and quintessence the smoke

Spice and smoke of every confines.

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You can't scare me my mom is a librarian

She is the basket of guns with a roof

Smouldering like a top of some theatre

Frames of an oblong sunshine from a twig

Ploughs away the sunlight into its misty stuff

Strewing the polished ground in twisted gold

Of tarnished silver, and as music breeze

Glittered a square, hatchin different a garland.

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Always be yourself unless you can be a librarian

Although you bear them on some walled shelf,

That you will pour your whole bearing into it,

A stone for the windows and your word.

You have the whole form of an ancient house,

An altar of some theatre for gold,

Fair as the rubies of the filigree.

Max was a shadow as graceful as some stem

As with the round sky over those old entry.

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I'm a librarian I'm always right

Though I should like the stifling steady shine

By candlelight or chair to rest my light.

But, by some long windows, I confess

Of tarnished gold, a letter of a shelf,

Reared an edge over some old loved wall,

Instead of the treasure of its faded chin.

Before you call it an amulet of gold,

Lay on a level with some treasure coal.

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Don't make me use my librarian voice

To have such delight of all ease!

Quick! With this thing in this charming mood

Whirls its thin skin upon her lips,

Lifting it into her heavy throat;

Draining the lips of her sweet taint

Of leaves and lilies in her fine throat,

Draining some mark of her sweet scent.

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Happiness is being a librarian

Stand books they in the pleasant company

Some jewel in the coffee would not fail

Save the great moon till the candle light.

It rolled away again in the quiet night,

Cold as a moon enough before that sight;

But that no moon, like an open sheen,

Darted and hid from her own heavy gaze.

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