Old words go back to being wood
The paper changing colour due to time
How well they once were understood
Repeated fingers going over rhyme

The leaf veins ran with nightblue ink
The paper changing into art
With words to make four generations think
And hear the beating of the poems heart

Though with some pages missing here and there
(Words written seem for ever gone)
Some half ripped out by sudden tear
The reader can not stop, needs to read on

Thus more and more the book becomes a tree
To carry fruit and live eternally

Comments on: "Wood" (2)

  1. Lovely couplet at the end.

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