In old pages unturned
Old words remain unlearned
And what wisdom
Might lie therein
Once an old book we begin
Read, not because you ought
But because so much less is taught
Than can be captured in a line of prose
There's where imagination grows
The poet's sorrows
And love defined
The hardest road
The sweetest wine
The fiercest fight
And battles won
The finest hour
The saddest song
And all of it waiting to be found
Neatly typeset and leather bound
In old pages unturned
Old words remain unlearned
And what wisdom
Might lie therein
Once an old book we begin
