SCENIC SUNDAY
THE PERFECT CURVE
Precious moment on the beach;
Father and son, united,
Looking for treasures in the pools.
Has a crab been sighted?
Little feet on slippery rocks.
It takes a bit of nerve.
Neither of them has noticed
That nearby perfect curve.
*
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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?
If 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.
*
