Hang on the wall in winter, so they say,

The yellowy greens of summer, framed and glassed.

Coming inside from summer, cool it with gray,

With blue. For the season's picture a season past.

Or think of it as of what is surely ahead.

But my four walls are books, all books, and bring

All seasons in any season, and I am led

Through colors of autumn, winter, summer, spring,

Toward and away from, into coming and gone.

These are the walls within which I am freed,

All colors the printed words I ponder on.

Reading the books I live, and living I read.