Was a man who believed
To read was to pray
The sound, the smell, the touch
Of books, truly made his day.
"I'll collect books," he thought
"To read to my hearts content."
And so he did, filling chests
In pursuit of his intent.
He bought and he brought
He stocked and he stored.
Reading forgotten, collecting
Meant so much more.
"Books so countless
Their stacks so tall
I would not live," he'd say
"To read them all!"
It's funny how fate works
The man's wish came true.
But not quite so fantastic
As the dreams he drew.
The books he collected
In his bibliophilic lust,
The termites left him naught
But some dunes of dust.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 4:56 AM UTC
Was a man who believed
To read was to pray
The sound, the smell, the touch
Of books, truly made his day.
"I'll collect books," he thought
"To read to my hearts content."
And so he did, filling chests
In pursuit of his intent.
He bought and he brought
He stocked and he stored.
Reading forgotten, collecting
Meant so much more.
"Books so countless
Their stacks so tall
I would not live," he'd say
"To read them all!"
It's funny how fate works
The man's wish came true.
But not quite so fantastic
As the dreams he drew.
The books he collected
In his bibliophilic lust,
The termites left him naught
But some dunes of dust.
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