Ode to a Book

It sits on a shelf, invitingly,
Beckoning openly to all,
Telling of royal decrees,
And of Rome’s great fall.
They thrive throughout the centuries,
Surviving long and always there
To tell the tales of history
That have been long forgotten by some.
Prized by the educated,
Books new and old,
Stored at a library
Where they sit there, waiting for visitors.
Nowadays people sit
Watching their movies,
Clicking and typing on their computers,
But few bother to visit their old manuscripts.
Aged and wise,
They tell marvelous tales of kings and warriors
Who made their mark throughout the past
Whether for the better or for the worse.
They sit, covered with dust and mold,
And those who turn the pages of old
Find their intriguing tales
Are greater than their modern counterparts.
Their lore is boundless,
And they tell of it all
Whether it be of fact or fiction,
Love and war, they know of it.
But on some fateful days,
Their brittle existence
Is lost so easily,
And they have succumbed forever to their death.