Poem By Michael Buhagiar
(In Fisher Library, University of Sydney)
The floors to the top are numbered five
Where shelves of Shakespeare live;
Ten flights of stairs where I might strive
For the fruits high branches give.
A lift runs up, and I could choose
To give these legs a rest,
And save the time I else would loose
On that small Everest.
Yet climb I always do, in mood
Of scaling mountain sides,
With snow and shelves of rock endued,
Nor hung with carriage-rides.