All that which is too dumb to be said, is sung for a dime. All that that is too dumb to be written in prose, is put in rhyme.
A cluster of Not-So-Terse Verse.
I walked into the bookstore nearby
To Advance-book that book held so dear by
Then my eyes fell on other tomes
Jeeves, Blandings, Swami, Sherlock Holmes
My nose betwixt the pages
My mind glimpsing images
Of a fictional world that seemed so distant
But only for that precise instant.
It was the world I knew not so long ago
To where I escaped in joyful moment and woe.
Ah! To thumb through Tharoor's tome.
Ah! To saunter through Caesar's Rome.
This was the end of my long vacation
Away from fiction for alien vocation.
No snooty proprietor looked over my shoulder
She didn't, with her gaze, leave me smoldered.
Coz, she understood, and did so jolly well
"This ain't no library, miss!" she didn't yell.
As I took in the Cornucopia.
The minutes ticked away, oh deah!
Soon, 'twas time to go back home.
So I chose the best of those tomes.
The total cost but made me wince
I'd spent twice more'n on the Half-Blood Prince!
I then passed my Card to swipe.
Blame it on the goddamn hype
That HBP costs way more than
Three of some other also-rans!
With armloads of books I made my way
To, beside my bookcase, spend the day.
There've been sleepless nights and headache-d days
But they're no hindrance to devouring Satyajit Rays
Or Wodehouse or Narayan or Ogden Nash.
Well, goodbye now, I need to dash.
Just stopped by to say a bit of thanks.
To her who made me break the ranks
And come back to reading
A hobby that's receding.
She did the same to Playstation kids
But, with me, in an other way than she famously did.
Must just say this before I go,
Merci beaucoup, Thanks, Jo!