whatthedickens (Remove filter)
Ye Old Shop Of Books
The old bell jangles as I come through the door
A familiar step down to a dark wooden floor
A petrichor from pages hangs in the air
Its musty aroma telling tales of their wear
On shelves, are bindings crafted by hands
Lost & forgotten to times shifting sands
And others, whose fingers caressed those old pages:
A DNA echo still lingers through ages
In a corner sits Mis...
Wednesday 18th September 2024 12:05 pm
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