The Muses and the Libraries

The Muses cried
The day the libraries closed
And all the trees on
Mount Helicon died.

Where would their words go now?
They liked mouths and hands
Were fond of paper and
Its ink
But didn't like those

Square humming things
That removed their words
Into a virtual space that
Denied the sound of them
In the throat.

Where would they reside now
When poets no longer picked
Up a pen but were
Seduced by warm

Screens and flashing
Pictures that ruined their eyes?
It was a sad day
The day the libraries closed.
The Muses were distraught

And huddled, crying, within
Their sacred groves
As the poets left them
One by one

And on Mount Helicon
The rush of white water
Slowed to a brown ooze
That no-one could drink from

And all the bright birds flew
To greener woods.  The Muses
Cried the day the libraries 
Closed - their redundant words

Could speak no longer
Of wonder and the sun
For all was quiet
All was done
And to their high
White altar
No-one else could come.
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