the people of the books

we praise the names of those who came before
each of them now a giant though in life quite small
from our perspective they loom very tall
we wonder how each fitted through a door
we think them rich in life though actually quite poor
none stumbled though each of them could fall
we see them all running though many couldn't crawl
we think they gave all but they could have done more
we take them from the books and don't see their feet
stuck deep in the mire of life and plodding steady
through what they were given no more no less
we wonder what we'd say if we could meet
we don't believe that we'd be either sure or ready
but we've the fear that we'd cause them distress