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Alone In The Bodleian

Scotch tape sticks to my hands,
The sound of soft books in the air
Like a summer song. Creatures
Cry in the distance, yet this sagacious
Lull, I trade for no land; the
Realization falls:
I am surrounded by the great
Shapers of time. They sit silent,
As though beckoning, pleading patiently,
For me to unmask the connotation

And actually exist in the story,
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Sophia White 17 January 2007

A cruel poem. To lull one in with such lovely words and verbiage, to intoxicate them with the dreamy reverie, and then with two harsh lines shock them into the stark and noisy reality is quite mean. Hmph.

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