The Book

By
The book sat alone on the dusty shelf,
His pages tattered and old.
And he silently cried when somebody passed by,
For his contents were better than gold.

Inside that old book that was falling apart
Was a princess locked up in a tower,
A dashing young prince that would rescue her,
A magic clock that would sing every hour.

An enchanted forest with magical beasts;
A dragon yet to be slain,
Fairies that flit from flower to flower,
A unicorn with a silvery mane.

And up on his shelf sat the book,
And his musty old heart would break
When he thought of the story inside him,
And how it was going to waste.





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