as the pages unfold.
The poetry recited
and the stories told
of desolate heroes, lasses pretty,
infernos burning and castles old.
Remember the perpetuals dreams inspired
despite the realities they hold;
how they left you with a bitter-sweet sough
ere your soul found a mould.
Remember how you once loved the book, if only for a day,
that kept you warm even while the world around grew cold.