A room without books is like a body without a soul.
The aged librarian have ceased to shave —
his beard’s another shade of grey
and when he walks the aisles as ghost or magi,
mumbling quotes of Cicero,
he’s become another book he cannot classify.
Is he obsolete like history of battles lost
or relevant as philosophy or law?
Or is he just a notebook still unpublished?
At five PM his library is empty.
He locks the doors and quench the lights,
cause in the darkness he is poetry:
eight one one,
but soon he’s gone
Today Grace Hosts OLN at dVerse. Welcome, the pub opens very soon.
February 23, 2017