That Second Hand Book

Stained in history of hands clutching verse.

Bound in the mystery of who fondled first?

Was it a bookworm leaching to mind?

Was it caressed, yet content declined?

Pages find morsels neglected by reader.

Its table bound sentence a napkin for feeder.

Dog ears hound breaks, expecting resume.

A tale to which, heart and mind are consumed.

The smell on occasion scented with time.

Its journey is more than what’s passaged in line.

Adorned in leather, gilded in dust.

The stains filling spine brand this book a must.


10 thoughts on “That Second Hand Book

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