When Once I Read A Book With Life…

WHEN ONCE I read a book with life, 
 We snuggled in our beds at night, 
 And dreamed of food and Christmas lights, 
 And what it meant, far past just what it was -- 

But isolation love in plenty fed: 
 The wrinkled hands, worn down by wrap and heat, 
 With celery cooked, and always something sweet, 
 The wonder made for us, and just because. 

 For granted things need not be taken so: 
 The pages of a book we breathe in 

 Slow

Published by

Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

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