An old book
thats covers so thin
and pages so ruffled
you could read the pages
with out lifting the cover.
Its suprising you haven't read
right threw it. The cover usto
be hard and tough,
could tack all sorts of weather
but, now the light breez is
tareing the pages loose from
its binding.
So fradgile so delicate,
one look to hard one
touch so gental, could couse
the pages to disinagrate,
fall to the floor in a pile
of dust and yet can't
be swept up.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
nice! I like it very much