Down past the cobbler, the baker and Fine Gifts
a man and his books came to Third Street to live
in a hollow old room that he filled to the top
with Books, Bargain, and Banter, the name of his shop
and when you walked in you would sit for awhile
in a dusty old chair before braving the aisles. And
the old man would speak about voices of old,
dreams that he had, and stories untold
with a bounce in his step and a gleam in his stare,
he’d spread his arms wide and begin to declare;
“These books are my children - I must find them a home!
No one leaves here without a book of one’s own.”
with a curious smile up the ladder he'd climb
with needly fingers, stroking each spine
"All of my books, I know whence they came,"
he'd say as he searched, muttering your name
like the devil himself had come into town…
ever do I wonder why that book store closed down
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