When I read you books, I point and point at pictures. This is a sunset, I say, or, these are ten toes, or, oh look, a whole sea of jamberries floating under a jazzberry sky. But you, my little love, look at the words.
I guess for you those words are pictures too: that pretty humpbacked P; the lonely L; slippery s; too tall T.
O elegant E, I so love thee.