Come sit with me while I relax for a few

I often come here when there’s nothing to do

The old wooden bench is a comforting place

I can sit here for hours, the sun on my face

But today it is different, I’m not here alone

Something was left on this ancient, worn throne

And I sit down beside it, and have a good look

Feel the essence that emanates off of this book

Is it waiting for me, or is it only for show?

Can I touch the yellowed pages, I really don’t know

If I open this book, will it lose all its glory?

Still I wonder, perhaps, if it’s my untold story

 

 

©2016 Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved
Photo: Pixabay