Too often, I find myself staring in admiration at my bookshelves. The ornate covers of collectables, the crackled pages of old favorites, the bright illustrations of new editions… *sigh of delight* To my abashment (isn’t that a lovely word for a not-so-lovely feeling?), I own and admire many books I have yet to actually read. Also, I continually purchase books without finishing the ones already waiting for me so faithfully at home! Horrible. Simply horrible. But, in staring at my beautiful and partially-read Shakespeare collection, I was inspired. Perhaps, if I cannot read all of the books on my list, then I can at least compose a sonnet (which may or may not resemble Shakespeare’s most famous 18th Sonnet) for them to assure them of my good intentions!
To The Books on My Shelves
Shall I shelve thee and read mere summaries?
Thou art more dense with stories worth the wait;
Rough times have robbed my reading time in May,
And summer’s months I deem too short a date:
Though Sun a hot book light for reading shines,
And e’en by night a lamp burns near undimmed,
I fear my eyesight steadily declines
While far too many tomes remain unskimmed.
But dusty still your ink will never fade
Nor I forget the study that I ow’st.
Although cases of books rest in the shade,
Someday I shall uncover all they know’st.
So long as writers breathe and glasses see,
So long shall books give breath and sight to me.
