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About This Poem
Used Bookstore
Paper thin
Frail to the touch
Time passes
It cracks
And rips
Stripped of beauty
Left with age
Dry and worn
Sorrow upon the fingertips
Musty smelling
Spine broken
Missing pages
Wisdom remains
Deep within ink
With each new reader
A new lover
Caressed and full of hope
A new adventure
As the pages turn
Listen for the its breath
And its growing heartbeat
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