He gave me three books,
such a gift,
those clean leaves of poems,
that trio.
I rarely read books,
though given
three prizes, that trio:
cherished gems.
They sit on the shelf,
not handled,
a gift from a friend,
that trio.
They hold such a place,
just right there,
the top of that trio's
loved bookcase.
Those poems span centuries,
so many.
A measure of treasure -
and pleasure.
I do wish he'd call
to see...
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