(Inspired by elephant bookends—a gift from my son.)
We are tomes and books, both short and long,
That lies betwixt two beasts, so strong;
Which press us hard and squash our backs
And make us worn, and blue and black.
Our pages fray from push and shove,
And piercing tusks, we do not love;
They scratch and scrawl and make us red
And make the ends a place to dread.
Their heavy weight and bulky size
Take new editions by surprise;
They hope to find the middle ground
Far from the danger to be found.
Our spines and tops, and bands and fronts,
Have all been damaged by their stunts;
But we desire to thwart their might
By putting up a hearty fight.
We'll push and shove and make them fall,
Those elephants, from off the wall;
Free of danger, we'll give a try
To stand alone, with heads up high.
Then, found it hard, to say the least,
With no support from book nor beast;
But, hope those bookends can grow wings
To fly up here and do their things.
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