A Poem: The Lonely Book



A book lies untouched

On the place where dust lies

Atop a doily of lace

The books sits and cries

For they know not his context

But they do not read

They look on him

As a time taking, worthless task

‘We have no need of him’

They say,

‘We have our electronic books’

They ignore the old and growing older book


‘No, I will have hope’

Dreams the book

There may be one

Who would enjoy and appreciate me


The years pass, however

And the book is not touched

He loses all hope

Of sharing his knowledge

With an unexpectant reader

All hope was not gone,

For there was still a drop left

The hope came in the form of a young boy

The boy gazes at the book in wonder

He has only merely seen pictures

Of these long ago, old fashioned things

For he learns from computers

And reads books of wires and screens

Not of paper


The boy gently lifts the book

From where it has lain for so long

The boy takes the hardcover

Between thumb and fore

And opens the old book

As he reads there opens a door


The reading does not last for long

But the book is happy

He got his dream come true

His dearest wish granted

He had been read by a child.



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