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
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