There are many kinds of wisdom,
but I have always felt closest to you
in the library,
surrounded by tall stacks of books,
the scent of gently aging paper and ink in the air,
words of wit and wisdom in frames on the wall.
This is not your true home,
no more than any earthly temple can be,
for it is not Mount Olympus.
But nonetheless, I feel you here,
just out of sight,
browsing, running your fingers
over the spines of many tomes:
history, archaeology, strategy and tactics,
languages, arts and poetry,
the science of the polis,
government, and the care and feeding of human devotees.
The quiet here, the respect for learning,
these strike me as things that would please you,
and the reverence for knowledge
seems to me as its own sort of offering
in your name.
Many times while visiting,
I fancy that I might meet you face-to-face
if I just step around a corner,
or around the end of the next stack,
and then, if I were very lucky,
very blessed,
we might sit down with cups of tea,
and enjoy a long and enlightening conversation
about all the topics
which we both long to know more about.
