Well, it's a start while they're having tea at Chester-Le-Street.
Mourn those bookshops, second-hand,
Closing down across the land
As the pull of paper dwindles
Since the birth of things like Kindles.
Mourn each one that disappears
Fragrant with the print of years,
Wood engravings, wormage, wrappers,
Milnes and Mortons, Sakis, Sappers.
Mourn, too, works the world ignores,
Creaking yarns by crashing bores,
Sermons, studies of Siddhartha,
Cranky theories re King Arthur.
Mourn old markers found inside
Bloated volumes bound in hide,
Shelves that beg the browser ‘Try one!’ –
Some day, I must really buy one.
Last edited by Jerome Betts; 08-12-2013 at 05:58 AM.
Reason: A thorough tweaking
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