Forgotten Books

I really feel bad for second hand books. So here's a short poem I wrote about them:



Sitting there all alone,
broken, tattered and torn.
Once they were happy and loved,
but now in some old box, stuffed.



Their spined broken,
totally forgotten
and withering away,
with nothing to say.



When first published, they flourished,
but a few years later- lost and tarnished.
Sitting in some second hand store,
waiting for someone to appreciate them more.



Their stories once used to enthrall
but now are forgotten by all.
They feel so abandoned and alone,
all they can do is sit and moan.