A forest of trees Sacrificed willingly For the greater good A medium of memories Watch your step The management is not responsible for personal injury Refer to the Self-Help section Second room to the right
The ghosts who congregate here Holy and profane Lament the passing of their generation Guard against fire For one little spark will bring the whole house down With enough kindling to keep It burning for days
I remember my first visit to the Bookery The improbable tales of countless manuscripts A sea of words, an ocean of ideas Stories and poems to wear like clothes A world on yellowing paper Easier on the eye A hundred miles I did drive To find this treasure of treasures When I got there I couldn't find a **** thing But it was fine because I wanted everything
No out of the way bookstore or well organized library The Bookery was a beast in it's own category The disheveled nature of the books on the shelves Made it a puzzle to solve A maze you forget where center is Distracted by the scenery on the way
Not much of a poem, I know. Just a silly tribute to a really cool place. They even have a credit card machine now, but that doesn't mean you can't haggle the old woman down to half price if you look intimidating enough.