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Saturday Librarian 8

With apologies to Samuel Coleridge. Kubla Khan, Or, a Saturday librarian in a dream, A Fragment.

In Xanadu did library
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Books, the sacred river, ran
Through stack too measureless to man
Down through a library.
So twice five miles of waiting books
With walls and towers items untook'd;
And there were patrons bright with noxious smells,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing snook;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Now made civilized with print and paste and bindery.

A patron with a small boxer
with vision I sure did see her:
a service animal they claimed
though what performed they couldn't say
And on the carpet fair it sprayed
a stream so large and vile
Could I revive within me
its symphony and smell,
To such a deep distress 'twould win me,
and music much too loud and strong,
and patron who smells of such bong.
That library! Those rows of books!
And all librarians should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
Their flashing eyes, and deep despair!
Check out books and make with nice
And close your eyes with holy dread
For Saturdays do make you dead,
In this library Paradise.