STACKS
LOOKING UP,
LOOKING DOWN,
SO MANY TITLES TO BE FOUND.
ONCE AGAIN I’VE COME TO CALL--
TO SEE MY DEAR FRIENDS, ONE AND ALL.
TEASDALE, ELIOT, AND TWAIN
BRING ME SORROW, BRING ME PAIN.
THURBER, FITZGERALD, AND POE;
TALES OF LAUGHTER, TALES OF WOE.
DUSTY COVERS, BRITTLE PAGES
PRICELESS WORDS READ THROUGH THE AGES.
THE SMELL OF KNOWLEDGE IN THE AIR
TIME STANDS STILL
WHEN I AM THERE.
HERE I AM AMONG THE STACKS
LOST AMONG THE ROWS AND RACKS.
REACHING HIGH, BENDING LOW,
NOT MUCH ROOM; NO WHERE TO GO.
ENTOMBED IN THIS WALL OF BOOKS
WITHIN THE CRANNIES AND THE NOOKS.
NOT KNOWING WHAT TREASURE I WILL UNCOVER
OR WHAT JEWEL I WILL DISCOVER.
WHAT COMFORT IN THIS SOLITARY DEED,
OF FINDING A DEAR, OLD FRIEND TO READ.
LOST AMONG THE STACKS ONCE MORE,
OF THIS WONDERFUL RARE BOOK STORE.
DARLENE GRAY
3-14-08
