An Open Book

His life’s an open book is what they say
So steal a moment of your time and read of him
Do not judge by its cover, so worn and tattered there
Open and turn the pages though yellowed by age
To see what treasure lies therein

Musky smells of long times past
That permeate the senses, almost repugnant
Yet inviting still as it leads you forward
Into a life that begs to be heard
And maybe understood, if only just a fraction

Chapters here are marked not in years but decades
For this man has come far, a journey almost ended
Turn the pages slowly and read careful not
To miss the meaning that his life has represented
And the purpose of his write

So as not to disappoint, generous he has given
Of himself and lent a photo to be placed
Where you see fit and to view it when you wish
She so lovely and so young and she was his
So very long ago

Read with fervor and attention held so steady
Simply flipping, moving onward as you do
Breath held tightly barely breathing
Barely thinking only reading, only learning
Ever thankful that you did

When it’s ended and you’ve finished
And the cover you have closed
Take with you this life well traveled
Tell his story, share it’s wealth
And pass along his open book.