Today the children respond with open delight

as I read them a story

which was written over one hundred fifty years ago,

and half a world away.

A story which was read to me

when I was their age,

every night

upon demand.

And now it is their turn Father,

to receive this story in joy

and claim if for their own.

What a marvel language is,

that it can freeze an author’s thoughts and emotions,

and preserve them,

until they melt into the mind and heart of a reader.

What a wonder words are,

that they can transcend space and time,

class and race,

uniting your sons and daughters in fellowship.

Father, thank you for books.

Thank you for children.

And thank you for the delightful privilege

of brining the two together.