So many dusty memories
Rest on such high shelves
That my stooping brain
Can no longer reach them.
And there are low ones too.
I just can't seem to bend down
Far enough to grasp them
As easily as I once could.
But some volumes remain
With dog-eared pages
Right here in the middle
That I still can reach with ease.
And so I will tell you
The same old stories
Over and over again
Until my library closes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem