June 3, 2010
More by this author
I love the feel of crisp clean pages
Between my fingers
And the smell of new books
Fresh off the presses,
Waiting for me.

I love the musty warmth of libraries,
The sight of endless rows of shelves
Filled with old books,
Well worn and well loved,
Waiting for me.

But in all the world there is nothing
Quite like a pen held in hand
And the emptiness of a blank page look up,
Clean and Waiting.
Waiting for me.

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