1THE OLD BOOK STORE
His name was Harry, he had always been old,
Almost as old as all those books that he sold,
Yet his eyes danced with mischief, so much alive,
Always very busy working like bees in a hive.

As a young child I went with a parent to look around,
They always came out with a treasure they had found,
Books from ceiling to floor, some shelves three deep,
No one knew but he what was there and straight did keep.

Books long out of print he had in his buried treasure,
You could ask him for a certain book and he knew
Within minutes and show it to you with great pride,
His great love for good works he could never hide.

I moved away and missed Harry and his books of old,
And all the things he knew about and the tales he told.
Then one day a letter came from a dear old friend,
The book store had burned down, what a terrible end.

A little later another letter came, this one was from Harry,
He wrote that not much longer on this earth would he tarry,
There were a few books saved from the fire, he thought of me,
He remembered what I liked, the book was called, “Tales Jesus Told Me.”

(Millicent) Ann Margetson June 14, 2002