Cover to Cover


Books

 

Crisp pages turning 

Whisper 

An old sound 

No matter how new the print   

Its contents calling, calling   

I come running 

The call still echoes for all who would listen  

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Story unfurling

Listen

An old sound

An irresistible need

To tell of a life.  Hear, hear

It stirs my soul

Listen; their tales echo within my being

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Corners are curling

Creaking

An old sound

The pages are worn with use

Tales murmur again, again

I still hear them

Echo.  With pen in hand, I add to their call.

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Listen.

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