50 Shades of Mud
A Poem for the Old Town Newhall Library's Grand Opening this Saturday
As the library op’ning nears
I find the structure looking...drear.
Its towers soar, its rafters
span,
But the impact’s short of grand.
It’s quiet, this new place in
town,
In muted shades of ashen brown.
It’s all tinted about the same,
This color, praytell, what’s its
name?
This color of a soggy plain,
This color of dust slaked by rain,
This color of dirt after flood,
Ah yes: It’s fifty shades of mud.
.
Columns in mud-colored stone,
Pillars stained a muddy tone,
Murals of mud-coated steeds,
Mud shelves for mud-covered
reads.
Chairs picked for their muddy hues,
Halls with muddy light imbued,
Odd quotes from muddy intellects,
Each turn finds muds more muddy
yet.
.
But just, perhaps, it’s by design:
Libraries are built for the mind,
So why not drab-en outward glory
To highlight words, books, and
stories?
Let their celestial light efface
The chthonic tones of this dull place.
.
That fits dear Old Newhall most
true.
The great West is tan, dusty, dun,
We honor shades that others shun.
Libraries of New York and Rome
Can shine in glass and gleam in
chrome
Can keep their marble, rose, and
gilt,
We like mud for the one we built.
[NOTE:]These pictures come from the City's wonderful Flickr account.
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