"Such nice clean work!" says So-and-So,
"And such nice hours too!"
"Why, really now," exclaims a girl,
"I don't see what you do."
"Just sitting reading all the books
'Most all the livelong day.
Don't tell me now that just for this
The city gives you pay!"
And no one ever stops to think
Why it's so quiet there.
While they're just sitting at their ease
In some nice easy chair.
And how the books got on the shelves
In just the right, right place,
Nor how the "chief" keeps track of each,
And with a smiling face.
Oh, mercy no, they seem to think
Some fairy passed that way
With books from many publishers
And when she'd said, "Good day,"
She catalogued them in a night,
And with a bit of glue,
Stuck in the pages that were loose,
And mended old ones too.
And that she dusted all the shelves,
And kept the records straight;
So when the year came to an end,
She would not be too late
In handing in a full report
Of just what had been done.
(And "full" comprises everything
That's underneath the sun).
Oh yes, you'll find them everywhere,
Deluded as can be
In thinking libr'ry work's a "cinch,"
And looking longingly
At someone's "easy libr'ry job"
"With not a thing to do!"
But tell me, do you libr'yites
Believe in fairies too?
--_H.
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