Glory in the architecture
Splendour in the light
A book, pages open
A love, a journey, a fight.
The king is victorious
He is returning home
To his castle on the hill
Under the golden dome
I wish I were as lucky,
But I have no one to love
A pocket full of wheat
And a cooing turtle dove.
Around me centuries of books. Collected and stuffed into shelves
To be looked at and photographed by tourists.
Young women sit by their computers falling asleep,
They must study because their education is costing more money than their grandfathers ever knew.
The sun shines in through the dome; the light falls on the marble
Where etched are the words
“Glory in the architecture
Splendour in the light.”
I sit in a timber chair and lean backwards, the chair moans
The sound echoes around the library.
I watch the nearest woman…
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