K = COBBLEWEEDS THE BOOKSTORE

The dust on the shelves,left much to chance,
My eyes took pleasure,in such simple a glance,
Pages on how and what to do,
On pastimes and fantasies,
And some that were true.
Some with colours,and pictures to explore,
Some for peace and some on war.
My eyes and fingers continued to look,
Sad to see the coverless books.
Pages yellow and stained with time,
It was there I found my book of rhyme,
Deep in the deapths of an old cardboard box.
Hidden in a corner where few would look.
The hardback cover,burgandy red,
Hanging on proudly,to the life it had led.
I opened the cover,and read the first page,
And foundmyself in a bygone age.
My fifty pence,I gladly gave,
Happy to save this book from the grave.
Upon my shelf,this book will sit,
While I pleasure,in it's wisdom and wit.

Cobbleweeds buys and sells his wares,
And asks only that you......
'Handle books with care.'

Jaiijaii 1985