she was burdened because she had read
some history of human cruelty.
I offered her some spoonful of honey,
but could not staunch her tears
which bespattered my desk with
a shiny silver trail.
She raised her green embers to my eyes
and then dove back into
the black leather grotto,
her home in the corner of my bookshelf.
I stood and pondered the books newly despised
and I could still hear her weeping, as the wind
creaked and crept through the twilit library,
I looked up at the shelves.
A Tale of Woe here,
and there a story of meaningless war
and invasions upon the minds and bodies,
boughs and trunks,
tusks and skin,
meat and bones,
of beings long forgotten.
A thought came;
I shuffled aside a crinkled page and
found her sitting in a corner, green skin pale.
And as I offered my hand and she took it,
I validated her surmise
and made my promise to arise.