The spine is weathered Broken by untold hands Opening and closing it Well loved or well traveled Before it found its way here Open in my lap filled with words Containing the original story Though giving nothing up About its life from printer From hand to hand to me Except for a few clues Of a dried flower An ex libris pressed initials Notes in an unknown hand Each having its own story The book lies open silent Giving nothing away While taking my own memories To mingle with the others
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Musing & Creating with T.J.S. Sherman 