Musty Dusty

                                 

 MUSTY DUSTY

What is this life, if, full of care

And wondering if a title's there,

We can't drift round with searching looks

Among the old and dusty books?

We can't leaf through the yellowing pages

Of novels written in past ages,

And see, on the inside of the cover,

The signature of a former lover,

Lover of  books of every kind,

To warm the heart and feed the mind?

Computers never, for all their power,

Will serve us such a shining hour

As that spent with the wit and lore

That we may find in an old book store.
*
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THE SPOT

Does X' mark the spot, I wonder.

This arrow is pointing the way.

One is drawn to the house on the top of the hill

As though one must obey.

Is it there we'd find hidden treasure?

Is it there that a secret lies?

Sea and sky making geometry

Right before my eyes.

*

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PS

Yesterday we enjoyed Shirley's Xmas Breakfast. We had fruit salad, followed by savoury croissants and quiches and, finally, strawberries dipped in chocolate. Plus a fair bit of champagne! I had to rush off as I had some recording to do for a practice tape for 'Tiddly Pom', our next 'big production' (if a little local bit of trivia can be called 'Big!). My recorder decided to die on me so I had to use a rather tinny alternative, but Annette, our substitute pianist (while Carole is recovering from an operation on her hand) did a great job.