Book

A book with dusty old cover and ragged edges.
Tattered binding held by split linen threads.
Yellowish-brown, sweetly fragrant vanillin leaves.
Turning them on edges ever so slowly and gently.
Faded squiggly impressions, running on the margins;
with various hues — red, black, and blue markings.
There have been others and there shall be more
Read them, some do and some makes sense no more.
Folded corners some are open and some still closed.
Wonder what could it be that brought the pause?
The written words or the intrusion of a call.
Skipping and turning briskly to turn to the end
there are still pages that need to be perused.
Aromatic gentle simmering brew of letters and beans.
The soft cuddle of those never to end windings;
alas! my heart is warm and my mind is gleaming.
Pondering, reflecting, imagining, worlds endlessly.
It has been a wonderful companion for me,
It shall always be in my collection for safekeeping
Some day, it will find me again as I found it today.