The old book (poem)

Hovering over the pages of an old book,

filled with pictures and drawings, text and old letters,

I flip through memories

comin’ from the touch of each page.

Some pages with embossed hard pencils,

Some with light, flowing shades,

Some written with a sense of love,

Some with a sense of despair.

Those pages, what do they carry?

Not some alphabets and strokes,

but maybe more,

more of emotions, and various tinkling moods.

More of you and me,

more of us…