Two covers hope to bind a codex-once a scroll.
Its leaves are inked with dreams and hope
-the weave and warp of fabric yet untold.
A shadow-shape (a friend? A foe?) doth leer
agaze upon the protag now amire on muddy trail,
What scribe did feather, hold in hand?
Whose mind conceived such sullen plot-a horrid tale?
Yet script be torn and shred and burned-to what avail?
-alas, anew: composer wakes, begins again.
G.W. Yeatman
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