Rue de la Bucherie
keeps carefully the key
to peace, to wisdom’s palm.
Its dusty shelves agree
to share their mystery
without regret or qualm.
Fiction can never be
strange as life’s poetry.
In George’s library
heart into heart may see,
slow turns life’s page, soft calm,
as if eternity
unites with soul carefree
in atmosphere of balm.
All strangers welcomes he,
for angels they may be.
Though he at times can be
somewhat sharp, crotchety,
he greets with open palm.
All welcome are to tea
to chat contentedly
in haven safe from harm.
Bound books may disagree,
but poetry bounds free.
Wherever one may be
the Shakespeare library,
its antiquated charm,
stays fresh in memory.
Who comes is happy, he
sings Learning’s sacred psalm.
Fruit from the Knowledge Tree
for all to use, stay free!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem