Monday, March 14, 2011

Scent of Prime

a summer afternoon
in a corner of my room
dashed rays, on pages
through transparent panes.

the bounded back,
aged and slack
almost held frail sheets,
crusty, brown with ashen prints.

nares, held the scent of prime
aged and divine, as preserved wine
the vintage rested; old and wise
beyond my age, before my eyes.

Books are lighthouses erected in the great sea of time.

- Edwin. P. Whipple

image : lines and shades

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