Books

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.

2 responses to “Books

  1. Never ends; a new mind absorbs by the spell of words through the eyes, and recreates it anew

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