Story Hoarder

My additions to fiction is causing despair.

I’m running out of time.

And my bookshelves, 

No longer bare.

Each spine has such a tantalising appeal.

I admire them all.

Each holding a promise of adventure, 

So real.

I take one off the ledge.

But I add two to three more.

“That’s it for a while”, 

I promise and pledge.

But I kid myself knowing 

The promise of a book,

As I walk into that corner bookstore,

Grabbing an armful and filtering down,

In the baywindow nook.

Yes indeed, I come home 

With more thrills than a carnival.

I sort out those shelves,

To find room for more promise of adventure 

And the courage of Helen Barnacle.