I strolled through
A library. T’was as abandoned
In the hands of time
As the proverbial Ozymandias.
It guarded a wealth of knowledge
Under each leather wrapped parchment
Like a pearl inside an oyster, just
Not under Adam’s ale.
One of them, as abandoned as the former
Stared at me, sitting in a
Coze on the floor.
‘Mommy!’ it cried
In such a desperate and helpless manner.
Instantaneously bonded I with it.
It was one akin to a mother and her child
Fragile, yet quite unbreakable.
All this in a book.
Words I have not to say
About that fervid day
And how etched it is.