She's Minerva, goddess of wisdom, who holds the key
to a storehouse of riches: food for feeding
the hungry; bread for the child who is sounding out
her first syllables and shouting, "I'm reading!
I'm reading!"; meat for the student exploring the wonders
of life and searching for knowledge, eyes shining;
wine for the lover with mood swings from heights of joy
to pits of despair and self-centered pining;
dessert for the classicist, armchaired in timeworn leather,
content and reflective, the great tomes his friends.
Minerva welcomes them all to the storehouse, but scans
the horizon for looters; on guard, she fends
them off, protecting the treasures, preserving the knowledge;
for without the storehouse everything ends.