A thousand squares of reading feet
…And all the tomes for sale.
From floor to head, and more, each treat
…With wrap and blurbs regale.
Each is a siren with its song
…Entreating those who come
To look, to buy, take it along
…To be an opium.
The sirens that are mysteries
…Are many in their place.
With shadows o’er their face, they please;
…They tease and make their case.
A youthful temptress calls the teen;
…Another calls the youth.
Sweet Romance is, to many, queen.
…Some want nonfiction, truth.
E’en history, that ancient dame,
…Calls from her sacred isle,
And beckons with both fact and fame
…And her all-knowing smile.
Of all that space, one three by three,
…And hard for one to find,
Is that reserved for poetry,
…The song that soothes a mind.
My narrow shelf that’s here makes sense,
…A sliver of a slot.
Demand is small; the consequence –
…This blog’s a lonely spot.
© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.