Untitled
I cherish people that are like old books
Though their covers worn, pages gone soft at the edge
And rips and tears and coffee stains, words torn
Dried tears, crinkles from being clutched in fear,
Smudged ink from loving finger tips
I treasure old books that are like people
They are ragged because they were loved, and carried through storms,
Worth holding, worth loving
And their words precious
And corners worth folding
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