Dawn, the town folk
formed a human chain
from the old building, past Bridwell's,
down Main, and right up the steps
of the new library.
They passed books, laughing
about the fund-raising
chocolate turtles and sudsy cars.
By afternoon, they spoke of aching
backs and steaming tubs,
by evening Lotshaw's Liniment.
By midnight books made a silent journey
from swollen fingers to puffy palms --
Dickinson, Whitman, Robinson, and Frost
turning cartwheels under the stars.
© by Dave Henson.
Used with the author's permission.
|