A poem by Ringgold Wilmer Lardner

If it's fun to take books from the bookcase,
If you really believe it's worth while
To carry them out to the kitchen
And build them all up in a pile,
Why isn't it just as agreeable then
To carry them back to the bookcase again?

If it's fun to make marks with a pencil
In books that one cares for a heap;
To tear out the pages from volumes
One likes and is anxious to keep,
Why isn't it pleasure to put on the hummer
A magazine read and discarded last summer?

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