what use is
the pile of books
stacked neatly
more or less
at the side of the bed
and the stack of books
piled high on the table
by the chair
if all the time
life is passing by
just a few feet away
and the books will be there
tomorrow
but the children
will not be there
messing up the papers
and getting jam on the reports
distracting with laughter
and tears in the midst
of living their lives
while I am wrapped up
in dead leaves
of deader trees
that merely hint
at life’s meanings
missing the life
all around me
