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Poem
I met an old man in Atlantic City, in a library by the shore  
Through the glass, the ocean shimmered, he couldn't ask for more  
He said he'd been retired since his wife had passed away  
His kids scattered across the land, it was hard to fill the day  

He spoke about Dobbs Ferry library, there sunset paints the sky  
From balconies he watches as the Hudson drifts on by  
Outside the Hudson Highlands library, a castle on the height  
Inside, portraits, paneled wood, and windows with golden light.  

[Chorus]
So he goes from town to town, in libraries he finds  
So many worlds to enter, and peace to ease his mind
He explores the future and the past, the stories don't grow old   
But me, I watch the TV sitcoms, letting time unfold  
 
He liked the New Haven library, where the homeless sometimes sleep  
The librarian wakes them gently, though it makes her heart weep  
He's been to New York's grand palace, with lions at the gate  
In Greenburgh a local sang Western songs, folks danced, it was great  

[Chorus]
So he goes from town to town, in libraries he finds  
Echoes of a world gone by, and peace to ease his mind  
Myself, I watch old action movies, but suspense won't take a hold  
Sometimes I feel lost, sometimes I feel cold. 

[Bridge]
The Detroit Public Library gave him a pleasant surprise  
The city has seen better days, but that place deserves a prize  
Built with Vermont marble, Italian trim, a building meant to last
In front a River of Knowledge Mosaic that connects us with the past

I felt a bit of sorrow, his hobby made me fret  
I said, "In Atlantic City, there's excitement you can get"  
"Come with me," I told him, "There's a place that we can go"  
He smiled and said, "No thank you, son, I'd rather take it slow"  

[Chorus]
So he goes from town to town, in libraries he finds  
So many worlds to enter, and peace to ease his mind  
While I sit and watch the reruns, letting time pass by
He finds the temples of the past, a learning kind of high.

He said "I'll stay in these cathedrals of what we used to be  
To each his own, before birds flown, on priorities we disagree"  
He turned back to his book again, beneath the painted dome  
And in that silent moment, I knew he'd found a home.
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