There it was, trapped on a shelf full of fat, self important volumes that were too disdainful to give an inch. The sight of the pathetically small, thin, opuscule should have given pause to any person who had even the slightest feeling of shame for the plight of the underdog. Think of the neglect that must have been suffered. How could bibliophiles pass by, day after day, without consideration of the plight of the worn out depository of scholarly lore?
With respectful fingertips, the obscure tome was slowly eased from the press of the overstocked shelf. It was as though the large, haughty examples of literary pomposity were unwilling to release the smaller opus from the crush of what could have been decades of pressure application. There was no regard, or appreciation, by the turgid knaves, for the fragile, unpretentious treasury of erudition.
Ah! Here at last is freedom for the neglected container of unknown jewels. The expansion, caused by the released pressure, was almost as though a sigh of relief had been uttered in thanksgiving. With proper humility, the careworn object of disdain is placed on top of the rack out of reach of the uncaring public.
The battle has been fought and won! As we retreat from the area of conflict there is an appreciation of the efforts of those heroes, now and in the past, who performed such noble deeds of valor without ever knowing if the foolhardy exploits would ever be properly appreciated by an uncaring world. In the imagined background, a stirring concordant of “Pomp and Ceremony” and “Hail to the Chief, stiffens the spine, squares the jaw, while the pulse races to keep in step with resounding chords signifying victorious battles, well-fought, triumphantly carrying the day for the Galahads of the world.
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