Everything we love is an accident that was written in the stars.
Tuesday, August 13, 2019
The death of poetry
Wearily I pushed my cart of non fiction books down the long hall. I was on my way to shelve them on the second floor of the library. On the elevator ride up I looked over all the books on my cart. Once again there were a whole bunch of poetry books on it. "Ach!" I cried out irritably "What's the point of shelving all these poetry books again! No one ever checks them out anyway!"