I cannot read the books I own, somehow,
That tempt me from their places. Still, I vow
That I will take the time–that is, some day–
To cut a bookish swath my own sweet way…
Some day, that is, if time will just allow.
Today, there’s too much work through which to plow,
And friends to visit, and the constant mow
Of radio’s intruders’ rant and bray–
I cannot read.
Some day, though, all this rush and tear and row
Will end for me, and Fate will shake the bough
I’m on, and I shall go; my books will stay
Unread, and chuckling. And there where I lay
My head shall be some words; which then, as now I CANNOT READ!
by Ray Romine Saturday, January 15, 1944
