Blackout Poetry

There is nothing quite like the smell of old books. That's how you can tell when a book is ripe and ready to be felt. Its pages are smooth, and the spine gives a slight creak as it is unused to the act of being opened. It is then that it hits you. The smell blossoms from the expectant pages like a tulip opening wide to greet the sun. Once you have perused its pages, the book is ready to be reborn. From its countless stories and rhymes, I pick and choose the words that strike me the most, and give this old book a new tale to tell.

This, is the beginning:

Swift and little,
her child procured
his degree
by special favor