Outside the University Library Often Unvisited

The thin book was drawn up from its dusty corner,
Having long slept, unattended,
And was taken outside, a campus’ summer,
To be read beneath the outstretched boughs,
Of an ancient maple warmed by the sun,
But then, only moments after,
After joyously stretching its old spine,
Revealing its record of lost memories,
The book tumbles from exhausted fingers,
Landing in verdant greens,
A little damp, but largely unharmed,
Distantly content that it will be read,
Just not at this very moment.

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