Eating in the Library is not a good deed (a play on pronunciation)

In pages of a book, I seek

The tales of green reeds that speak

Of their vibrant hues and graceful sway

A world of wonder, in which to play

But as I turn the final page

A curious thought begins to engage

Will these emerald reeds still hold their sheen

Or will they turn a shade unseen?

Next, I’ll read of good deeds so fine

And ponder if they’ll still shine

Once they’re done, once they’re complete

Or if they’ll fade, incomplete.

For once I read about green reeds, the book is read.

Does it not make sense that the reeds become red?

Once I read about good deeds, the book is read,

so are the deeds dead, or would it be ded?

Then comes the book of healthy food

That nourishes and does us good

But once consumed, does it not shift

From food to fed, and start to drift?

For if I read a book about healthy food that feeds,

after the food is eaten, on the food I’m fed.

Just as after I read the book, the book is read.

It only makes sense that deeds once done are ded.


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