I can’t believe I’ve made it past the hump of National Poetry Month and managed to still meet my goal of writing a poem each day.  It’s really starting to wear on me, and it gives me a lot more appreciation for those poets who choose to write poetry regularly or even for a living.  For today’s poem, as I was looking for an idea, I got to thinking how much better I like reading and writing books than poetry.  So, with that in mind, I decided to make my poem about books.  It was a lot better idea in theory than in reality.  I compiled a list of nearly one hundred classic books, and yet getting any of the author names or titles to even somewhat rhyme, was harder than I ever imagined.  I’m afraid my sad attempt sounds more like something from Dr. Seuss’ reject pile than what…