I see the contoured shadows of the sky,
This rolling teal and grey that strikes me with an awe,
The air is cold tonight. Yet He is warm,
All embers of the day are spent beside.

Heavy halls,
I'm told of weight so ancient here befalls,
The stench of books and history told,
Wafts viscous through the sun-lit streets,
And words amount to tiny hills,
That slot into the library walls.