As a child, all the world used to laugh at me,
for I spoke in the language of poetry;
every day was a new opportunity
to enhance my linguistic acuity.
And the pages were warm, and they welcomed me,
they were braver and brighter than I could be;
while I floated upon a semantic sea,
I was written to dusty obscurity.
As I grew, so the words reached maturity,
and I learned all I could of vitality
from the welcoming flesh of the library --
I collated a cold bibliography.
Now the world mocks my selfish sterility,
and I yearn for the comfort of company;
every day I expand my anthology,
wet with tears for my absent humanity.
for I spoke in the language of poetry;
every day was a new opportunity
to enhance my linguistic acuity.
And the pages were warm, and they welcomed me,
they were braver and brighter than I could be;
while I floated upon a semantic sea,
I was written to dusty obscurity.
As I grew, so the words reached maturity,
and I learned all I could of vitality
from the welcoming flesh of the library --
I collated a cold bibliography.
Now the world mocks my selfish sterility,
and I yearn for the comfort of company;
every day I expand my anthology,
wet with tears for my absent humanity.
It could be worse