by Gene Novogrodsky Snow covered the small town, And my father walked me into The wooden-floored library, Where he told me to stand before The librarian’s desk, And tell her that I wanted a card. She had to look down To see me, my jacket dotted With snowflakes …. Books, ever books, Many stories about [...]
For the Books
October 5th, 2009 · No Comments
Tags: Poetry
