A Library

A Library

A flashlight
At midnight

A rusty door
A sad eyesore
Prepared to explore

Hundreds of riveting books,
Grabbing by their hook’s
About martyr’s and crooks,
Even our beautiful scrapbooks,

A four-step library ladder,
Fruits on a pretty platter,
Flashlight fell with a clatter,
Yet we continued to chatter,
Especially about Chemistry and antimatter.

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Pooja Sinha
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