Old man
Moving on
Not sure how willingly
Many things to be sold
From the house, the barn
In a box was a book
Ten by twenty centimeters
Well, no.  But it was small
And old, sort of like the fellow selling
It felt so good I my hand
The boards might have been 
Real wooden boards
The leather supple lambskin
Perhaps, golden title stamped
Prize of librarian’s hoard.
I turned the slick pages
They moved as if alive
I didn’t read a word of it
It’s feelings thought override
I didn’t notice him watching me
as I reverently returned it to the box
I couldn’t bring it home with me
My heart said so
Whatever he wanted for it
Would have been too low

The midweek motif at poets united: topic is books

6 thoughts on “Vide-Greniers

  1. I got so lost in the story of your poem of the book and the old man. I want to know the rest of the story. Did he keep it? Did someone else buy it … and if so, did they treasure it as they should? What’s to become of the old man? Oh dear, I have to write a happy end to this story in my head or I won’t sleep tonight!


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