Morning sun lights up
smooth clean feelings of order
careening off white pimply walls
spattered cement, granules jut
rows and rows of upright books
shelves and shelves of colorful bindings
spines shine out, beckon, pick me pick me
I can not take pity nor reveal
they shall be standing many a long year
untouched, uncaressed by human hands
out of fashion laid to waste
by sinking suns and new horizons
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