Here's a poem I finished today, having started it last Thursday. I rewrote it so extensively that it is a new poem so I'm not cheating!
Wednesday April 16th
There was long gestation: broad planks stacked in an odorous yard. Tenon joints were cut by a practised saw. These rustic shelves, sold to me by a faceless man in a suburban junk shop must remember high cold skies, a struggle towards light, the crunch of booted feet, creak of expanding pine-cones and the patter of leaves and rain on a forest floor.
Now this peasant book-case stares across my room at shelves claiming urban elegance, made from particles of wood from many forests, with a gloss veneer, birthed in loud factories, assembled by amateurs.
Both of these book-shelves share my books: my store of knowledge, entertainment, memories. I hope they live together without prejudice or snobbery, acknowledging that all of them, in some degree, share a common ancestor.