I pass along to thee
Leaves from my learning tree.
And though allusions you'll escape,
Drape thyself in this book's cape.
When you discover, Come from toil:
Your own ideas will from this soil.
And to thy kin and folk alike
You'll pass on your part, this life's rite--
From which all things from good do come.
And more and much, lots, and then some.
[Having given a book that Christmas, one of 'em before 1991.]
