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 can still reach with ease.
And so I will tell you
the same old stories,
over and over again,
until my library closes.
RLJ - 2012
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