An empty book is the mighty time,
Where, from the day you begin,
You write, scribble and sing!
Some pages are funny and some are teary,
Some are happy and some are sad,
Some lines are chirpy like a song,
And some, are dreary and long.
Each page influences the next,
At times, there's just no common context.
The saga of life do the words and verses say,
From the first cry to the very last sigh!
For each is the size very different,
But what it holds is always magnificent.
For as long as the pages last,
Fill it with nice things,
For,
Those on the lines and between them lie,
The essence of life to feast and apply.