To lose a book, you’ve truly loved
The heart might like a flower be crushed.
Though words once danced across the page
With time, their memory too, would fade…
Come the spring, the grass would grow
The leaves away with winter blow…
And you, another book would find
To calm that hunger of the mind…
On every page, a feast of rhyme
Whose frontispiece the poet would sign.

That book, though once your proudest boast-
The withered petals of a rose…