All that even the best can say
Is some old thing in some new way.
Books are for use. A book, entombed,
Unread, on some high shelf, seems doomed;
And yet, tastes change. One book, forgotten,
May outlive thousands late begotten.
The rich are always evil, but the poor are always
A theme by saints and authors nearly always under-
But I read the daily papers, and I'm not so very
To trade their good for evil seems to tempt a lot of
The kind of people he writes about can't read.
His derelicts and odd ones take no heed.
People who read are seldom written about.
These are the people forgotten, the ones left out.