In the Library
by Dorothea Grossman
The library always smells like this:
an ancient stew of vinegar and wood.
It’s autumn again,
and I can do anything.
p.s. Don’t worry, Gleeson doesn’t have the pervasive smell Grossman’s poem describes, but you might say the Fall Semester – new classes! new friends! new books! new projects! — is a little bit, well, magical around here…
See you soon!