At The Library

An aging book sits on the shelf
Just within arm’s reach
Among tomes with brighter, tighter bindings
The words along its spine long faded
It sits and watches as curious hands pass it over for the other books
I approach the shelf to peruse its contents
And come across this aging book
The cover nearly collapses in my hands,
As if my touch was crippling to its fragile frame
I turn each withered, jaundiced page with care,
The knowledge and experience scribed within absorbing into me
I feel complete, and I return the book to the shelf,
Satisfied in my selection, and
Comforted that I had given the aging book its deserved chance