There Are Books And Books, But

A book loud and loose if not lusty, Read, re-read to last of printed page, Dog-eared oft gets but seldom dusty, And dies of tattered limbs ere her age! While a tome beautiful and well bound, Like well displayed wall-hanging wisdom— Like sword and armour of a kingdom, Dies treasured, oh a tall bookcase bound. Or may live, not a page turned or churned, O to die unread of ripe old age, Or by next generation well-earned, Yellowed and worms devoured, not in rage! Yet, a thing common to books or men, But a few can stand to thorough scan. ______________________________________________ Set in anapaest meter _______________________________________________ Sonnets | 03.06.08 |