The Old Bookshop Poem by Hazel Connelly

Nestled between the cafe and the bank
The bookshop is crammed
With rows of pre loved books
That line the shelves.
Book cases full of masterpieces, fairytales,
Poetry, biography's and thrillers,
Out of print first editions, occult,
mystical and leather bound.
It's like being transported back in time.
Day after day, the old man,
Sallow complexion and white thinning hair,
Sits behind the old oak table
reading and writing.
The door always stands ajar,
Above it says 1894,
Stand here and you can smell the must.
© Hazel