Book

The spine, a ridge of paper, rough and worn, A history of journeys, stories born. Each page, a whisper, soft and thin, A canvas for ink, where worlds begin. The edges, frayed and slightly curled, A testament to time, a world unfurled. The cover, smooth or textured, rough or fine, A tactile invitation, a whispered sign. The weight, a comforting, familiar heft, A promise of adventure, a journey left. To hold a book, a tactile delight, A world of wonder, held in the light.