Old Books

You sit there alone on the shelf neglected A reminder of a time not so long ago When you were held in their arms respected To tell them all they wanted to know Your once soft supple shell Turning moldy with age The taste of you catches in my throat you smell You have seen better days A rare first edition print Is a beauty I cannot measure It could be you are worth a mint But that is not the value I treasure They hide you in the back room Thinking you are not required If only they understood How much you are admired My fingers gently stroke your spine I wish I could take you home The pleasure then would be all mine As through your pages I let my fingers roam