When I wander into a bookstore I always like to look

around on all the shelves to find the oldest book


I love to feel the leather in my hands, turn its pages and what’s more

I like to wonder what brought this book to rest here in this store.


The words written on its pages tell a story that’s well known

but the book has also made a journey and has a story of its own.


The story within the book is repeated each time the book is sold

but the story about the book forever remains untold..


I was recently given a book whose story is still being spun

a tiny leather-bound book given to a soldier in World War I.


It was a little weathered…its pages loose and tattered by time

and I had to wonder how from the hands of a soldier in WWI

It found its way to mine.


Did this soldier see much action…was he injured…did he make it out alive?

In the horrors of a war…how did this little book survive?


How much time did it spend in Europe?  

Was its journey fast…or slow.? 

How did it find its way back across the ocean?

These are things I’ll never know.


For that is the dichotomy of a book is it not?…

On its pages it reveals its secrets for everyone to see

but the secrets of its journey remains a mystery.


So while I am it’s caretaker…

as I can wonder about the adventures it has undergone…

I shall do my best to protect her


before she journeys on.

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