In full light,
squares of luminescence
arranged so orderly on the wall above,
(behind it, the starry sky) -
still, in this large arena
bright as day,
many books await the reader.
Their vari-colored covers
tempt with what lies within.
One of those smooth sheathed
tomes you pick from the shelf,
and open it wide.
Broad, you smile,
as your free hand extends wide.
You are Cyrano,
expounding on what
Valvert might have said of his nose.
Bold and vibrant, you taunt
the witless, but fairly faced.
But surface is not all.
Could he win the lady Roxanne's heart,
with his skilled words?
Still, in this early scene,
he is full of life.
Not to the end, near to his end,
will she know who has the talent
that moves her so.
I am audience to your engaging delivery.  
I am won by your words.
But, then I have already,
many years before,
been won by your words.
That your nose,
with its little lean to the left,
also please me,
a bonus, I think.