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
Wolves and lying boys,
For the Books
October 5th, 2009 · No Comments
Tags: Poetry


