Book
D
David Harris
0
Altın Yaprak
A book lies dusty on a shelf,
its contents misunderstood,
an author’s child,
born out of blood sweat and tears.
Its pages fading corners,
now untouched by inquisitive fingers.
A book of knowledge,
soon to be lost in time,
as years take their toll in decay,
and old man’s dream,
is soon to rush to dust.
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