The Books of Hatcher Library

Walk the stacks of Hatcher,

all the history it contains

Up and down the hallways, 

marvel at what remains

Centuries worth of books,

all sitting there in dust

Many of them never picked,

thankfully cannot rust

Their wordsmiths have come and gone,

the books as ever young

Their words sit upon these musty shelves,

their contents remain unsung

We talk and talk and hope one is listening,

to know that we exist

Like us, these books want to be heard,

it is our eyes that they have missed

Close your eyes and pick a book,

leave your texts unsent

The books are celebrating your arrival,

they appreciate the time spent

Read the book in an open field,

where flowers are so merry

Where the sun shines upon its spine,

where it isn’t a dark library

Walk the stacks of Hatcher

 when you have some time to spare

The books yearn to be opened, 

they wish to feel the sweet summer air