do you know the meaning?
An old book sits looking tattered and worn.
Alone on a bench as people pass by.
Not one soul looks closer through out the cold morn'.
From sunrise to midday nary a try.
The cover as wrinkled as strewn hay.
No title or art, not even "by John".
Time has faded onyx black to dull grey.
Loose pages hinting where others had gone.
But I sought out the knowledge and spirit
this iscarded treasure so longed to share.
Gathering courage sat down beside it.
With passion and hast its secrets laid bare.
Till sunset I sat as with an old friend.
The saddness of knowing someday the end.