An old, forgotten book on the shelf,
Its pages worn, its spine a shell,
Once full of life, of tales untold,
now gathering dust, both young and old.
The cover cracked the words erased,
Memories of joy now laid to waste.
The pages whisper, but no one hears,
a voice once strong,now drowned in years.
Its stories fade, its purpose lost,
A silent witness to time\'s cost.
No hand will open, no eyes will see,
the empty echoes of what used to be.