a hard-bound tome of tempting tales
clapped tight anxiously awaits wide open eyes,
parchment pages ache to turn with a touch
within the bindings bring unknown fates
laughter, song, tears.
like so many others on wooden dusty shelves
forgotten, hiding in plain sight, fighting dim light
and the casual glance as a browser passes by,
the struggle continues, days turn to night
no interested reader nears.
ahh to dream
to be stuffed into a ratty knapsack
or sent to a childhood friend
to be passed along to a son or neice
ahh to dream.
autumn collectors move in and out
leaves rattle along the sidewalk
the patter of cold rain on canopy canvas
wooden floorboards creak close
then an unfamiliar sound
the crackle of long-unopened pages
a sigh, a smile
the crisp and jingle at the counter
the joy of being found
the joy of being wanted
the joy of going home.