Willie Shakespeare stepped out of his room
And froze in a perplexed breed of fear.
“Where in the name of the Lord
Have they taken me now?”
He was quite used to the library
Having the occasional facelift,
Being packed and unpacked,
Relocated and recreated,
But this was another thing entirely.
Gone were the uniform free-standing shelves,
Replaced with sleek lighted casing
Pressed into circular walls.
No more were the strict heavy steps,
Now neon conveyors carried patrons
From floor to curvaceous floor.
Goodbye to the standard stone façade,
Hello to filigree, glass, and gold
Like a draping of ornate chainmail.
Willie Shakespeare stepped back in
And sighed theatrically.
“Maybe next time,
They will have taken me to the Moon.”
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