Poem – Open Book

He took me off the shelf

Because he liked my cover

He clumsily fingered my spine

Hoping it would give him the answers

Then page by page he turned quickly

As if he could really absorb it

For I was an open book

But sadly he was illiterate

It was all there in black and white

Exactly what he needed

But instead, he put me back on the shelf

And made his way to the picture books

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