As I peruse the shelf, I’m drawn to a spine,
So I open it up, and blow dust from the pages,
In order to converse, word by word, with the sages.
Trapped by my longing, I read line after line,
Already so smitten, I must make this book mine.
I search for the money to buy it in stages,
First hopeful, then frantic, I search for ages,
As my time runs out in this sacred book shrine.
But another patron knows the glory of knowledge,
And says, “I’ve even put certain youngsters through college,”
As he pays for the book, thinking not of the price,
A sum much smaller than the printer demanded,
And so I did not leave that place empty handed,
But rather thinking, “Half Price Books really is nice.”