The distant post office was my pole star.
Not for its airmail stamps or for the print
On foreign postmarks – no, much more by far
As upstairs library it did full stint.
On Tuesday and on Thursday afternoon,
I’d disappear across that spacious floor
And,wreathed in smiles, I’d re-emerge quite soon,
Equipped with my supply of books once more.
My head now whirling with a new sensation
At some first line that I had swiftly glanced,
I guessed, while biking, what would then ensue.
The pedals, though, were pounded till they danced
To get home all the faster, since I knew:
A book is better than imagination.
Post a Comment