Dusty Old Book Karishma D'Mello I’m an open book in a library nook written in ink, smudged and torn, unturned and worn these words, in Greek and I reek, of scotch and ale. I tell no tales, just a rhyme or quote a limerick I wrote a long time back. When still intact but they didn’t deign to look or take a second glance though they had the chance. They passed by the shelf saw the pages all torn so they left me alone in the same old place. They didn’t look beneath the surface or read between the lines at the occasionally clumsy rhymes sometimes badly timed, and disjointed. These words are too few for those who do not care for
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