Leaving the Library (a poem)

Leaving the Library

Three metaphors abide inside this space:
Life’s blood, a garden, and a treasure box.
Like blood, these books bring life within this place;
Thought circulating hands, pages, talks.
As stories link our present, future, past
Connecting everything and everyone
A tiny thread, a membrane holds steadfast
The wall twixt knowledge and oblivion.
Old dusty books are dead ’til opened up
Awakening the life within the seed
And *words devoid of thought an empty cup
No nourishment, as plant is choked by weed
A garden cultivated over years
The harvest? readers, wide-eyed wonder, awe
And meaning grasped through giggles, glints of tears.
The paradox? Imagine Shangri-La
Discovery of universal truth
Treasures of the future and days long gone
Shared, pondered, passed from aged hands to youth
Time forges. The librarian moves on.


By Valerie Hill upon retirement from 20 years in a library
*Lev Vygotsky


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