Unread Books Poem by Bernard Kennedy

you never get to read, all the books,
you bring on holiday. Here at hermitage
I lift each, reading first the back,
then introduction, then,
recommendation. Updike, Maya Angelou,
Letters of T.S. Eliot.

But the evening light through the hermitage
window, the view of Sligo Bay below,
Knockarea and Drumcliffe,
meadows cut, and gathered roses,
Dublin Bay.
And Ben Bulbin covered with a cloud,
like Mount Tabor, or Sinai.

You never get to read, all the books,
you bring on holiday.