It was place of quiet dignity,
Fit for purpose and cause,
In every little way fitting
Each of suitabilities laws.
Dark oak cabinets of shelves
Stood in precise ranks and rows
With more lined around each wall
To perfectly complement those.
Each shelf crammed with volumes
Alphabetically filed by classification
A source of wisdom and knowledge
Laid out there for every generation.
With an atmosphere of peace,
A smell of mustered books,
Passages between the shelves
Forming intimate little nooks.
A place to quietly browse
Eventually to make a choice
To book out at the desk with
A respectfully muted voice.
The atmosphere is gone now
The dark oak shelves replaced
With lightly frivolous alternatives
Seemingly randomly placed.
It's light and brash and airy
Its quiet atmosphere now gone
Fit I suppose for our connected age
As progress marches inexorably on.
No longer the requirement for silence
As they browse and make choices.
It's seems disrespectful and alien
Nowadays to hear unmuted voices.
To people of my age and generation
It was a place to learn and explore
And maybe I should accept that
It's not so much needed anymore,
But I miss the old Central Library,
A source of pleasure and quiet joy
As I absorbed it's collected wisdom
On my passage to man from boy.
