and no one comes

Today I picked up the book, Wonder by R.J. Palacio. I was setting it aside to loan out and began thumbing through its wonderful pages. While I was reading, I was thinking of part of a poem by Marie Howe:


... You come upon the person the author put there
as if you'd been pushed into a room and told to watch the dancing -


pushed into parties, into basements, across moors, into
the great drawing rooms of great cities, into the small cold cabin, or


into here, beside the small running river where a boy is weeping,
and no one comes.


One by one the readers come and watch him weeping by the running river,
and he never knows,


unless he too has read the story where a boy feels himself all alone.


Do you ever feel that about a book, "pushed into a room" ? 
It can be wonderful and beautiful... or... I have closed books and thought to myself, "That is not something I need to see."


Anyway, the poem by Marie Howe is called Why the Novel Is Necessary but Sometimes Hard to Read. Wonderful books, beautiful poems... the amazing life of a reader.