How lively the library is today,
with personnel raising the movie screen
and tending to the circulation desk.
I can’t make out what all their chatter means—
I’d rather it were pantomime burlesque—
still, after trying elsewhere, here I’ll stay.
I have the reading room all to myself—
five tables, countless chairs, a clock,
reminding me I have less than an hour
to sit here listening and taking stock
of titles in this local ivory tower
with silent offerings on every shelf.
A hospital, one might compare it to—
for those afflicted by all human noise—
one with a modicum of healing stuff,
and offering a silence long enough
to sort things out—the trials and the joys—
and stay just long enough to think things through.

Don Wheelock

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Don Wheelock   would be pleased to hear them