Bruce trotted into the Scranton Public Library
(for the doors were left open wide).
'Dear God, there's a goat in the library!'�
someone yelled. 'Give us a place to hide!'�

Pope, Silverstein, Seuss, or Thoreau,
He let no book go to waste.
Unaware of what they were or their use,
Bruce's main concern was the taste.

The books flew off the shelves!
A whirlwind of paper littered the floor.
The people barely escaped with their lives,
But the books'�alas, the books were no more.

In the end the books were all the same.
A stinking, smelly pile of goat turd.
Nothing remained but people's memories of them,
Their enjoyment of what was once the printed word.

Bruce liked the books for the pleasure they gave.
He cared not for analyzing or taking notes.
Bruce found the true value of literature.
We'd do well to learn from this hungry little goat.

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