Each one containing a world onto itself.
My world has lost many worlds.
These worlds are vast book worlds.
None of these books should be gone.
They were mine.
Each deserves its own appreciative reading.
The way the paper feels. The way it smells.
There was a bedraggled threadbare copy
Of The Works of Robert Browning.
Bought because it was so old. Though never read.
Who knows the wonders, Of letters encapsulated there,
That could enthrall, The reader and possibly change their lives?
The book had obviously been read many times.
Perhaps it was a school text..
I wonder who read it?
Who are they now?
How did the book effect their lives?
Our culture, even.
Like a pebble thrown in a pond, rippling effects, encompassing all.
Based on his words. Words are so strong!
In the beginning there was the Word.
Did Brownings' readers have a change of attitude, of heart?
I realize its readers may be long dead.
I wonder what became of Browning's threadbare book.
Did some scholarly person stumble upon it?
Or did some drunken lot, seeing it threadbare,
Throw it in the fire?