Fly away on my flapping wings
to many fanciful, far-fetched things,
whether hard-spined or flexibly soft,
I will hold you safely aloft,
though I may well give you the chills
with the turbulence of my thrills,
it is all for the sake of some fun,
or your own education;
yet, when I rest with my catalogued kin
it will be on a cozy shelf, all nestled in,
and singing silently with a tight-lipped voice
of someone else’s preferred choice—
you see, we share a quiet aviary
which some often call a library.

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