Set in a line like soldiers firing,
The books I love but never read wait
For their departure, glaring down at
Me from the shelves where dust will soon be
Unveiled, leaving silent shadows for
Destruction by the softest weapon.
I don’t have time to write my own poem about the moving. I’m too busy and too tired and, sometimes, too full of emotion when I try to see anything but swimming squiggles on a screen.
Instead I found this one which does the job perfectly on the topic of the unread books and other things that fill a house and must be dealt with (or just put into a bigger box to be not dealt with later in the next place). It was even better when I discovered that Len is a woman from Australia who writes lots of wonderful stuff.
Anyhow, it’s clear I’m just stalling. I need to go and see if I can fit all our stuff for today AND the guinea pigs into the car.