In a Secondhand Bookshop

What waits me on these shelves? I cannot guess,
But feel the sure foreboding; there will cry
A voice of human laughter or distress,
A word that no one needs as much as I.

For always where old books are sold and bought
There comes that twinge of dreadful subtlety
These words were actual, and they were thought
By someone who was once alive, like me.

—Christopher Morley

Published in: on December 25, 2009 at 11:50 AM  Leave a Comment  

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