Migrant bird with a plural plumage
You have crossed many oceans
And nested your eggs in trees
Too tall for the breaking wind
Those eggs touched the ground
And books were born
In them were ideas which unchain the mind,
Wisdom which tames the terror of hidden things
In the universe of your being
Is a compass with a thousand points
Your Northern needle being so steady
You have never lost your way around the Light
From the hilly heights of Tanganyika
To the copper plains of Zambia
Those restless feathers powered north where,
Europe-born, you dug your feet deep into the Nigerian soil
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From Evans Brothers to Sunshine House to Safari Fare
The Book remains the priest of your passion
The temple of your trust where the altar
Glows from the lyric of a thousand lamps
From that busy haven in Kingston- upon- Thames
To Cambridge-Okigbo House in Ibadan, the world’s best books
Live between your covers, ennobled
By your ageless energy, your relentless enterprise
Seasons come, seasons go
Passing moons unfurl your feathers
Wherever your feet have touched the ground
A city of Light has risen and bloomed
•First published in this column four years ago when the famous Bookman was 90.
Re-used here with minor adjustments.