Books
Surrounded by books,
I receive the funniest of looks
as I smell the pages
of an old and treasured tome,
that has found its way,
to here, today,
which is but it’s latest home.
Written hundreds of years ago,
by a man that I am sure
I am soon to explore
by the reading of his words;
and published in a classic font
that fashion knows no more.
I pay the price
for a literary friend,
whose journey never, ever,
seems to end.
Never ends; a new mind absorbs by the spell of words through the eyes, and recreates it anew
True, Cage; here’s hoping that you are well and safe. G:)