SONNET: THE LIBRARY PLUNDERED by D. Lewandowski Guerra ©2009 All Rights Reserved
Bankers and merchants of probity sleep Six meters under the Brandywine's banks, Secure their library serves as a keep For paintings, rare volumes, permanent thanks. N.C. Wyeth, when paid, let Crusoe reach home, With adventures walled for citizens American tribesmen trapped in a tome Escaped for the eyes of new denizens. Wilmington Institute once wielded pride, Its roof crumbles on dim desolation, Exterior classical, shambles inside, Now penance: auctioneer's desecration. Laud all revenue -- the site that it saves-Ignore churning of donors now whirling in graves.