Book Sale
Bazaar and fair for worn-out books,
An old-time air of yellowed looks.
Random and odd like haunted hints,
Once sold and bought from dreary mint.
Covers now shout in lazy pace,
Fancy finds bout in display space.
Flavours once known lie in sad pile,
Pique fancy's own words in old style.
Feel paper print of thoughts distilled,
Charm in old mint of journeys tilled.
By this old mall sense busy plots,
Stray footsteps call on book sale lot.
A treasure hunt to seek bargains,
Knowledge greets grunts of curious strains.
Leon Enriquez
04 January 2016
Singapore
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