Cover to Cover



Crisp pages turning 


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  


Story unfurling


An old sound

An irresistible need

To tell of a life.  Hear, hear

It stirs my soul

Listen; their tales echo within my being


Corners are curling


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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