I’m a book, a very good book, but my cover is as plain and dowdy as can be,
So much so, that people browsing through the shelves fail to discover me.
I’ve had a few near misses, when they have almost prised me out, then forced me back in again, with derision.
It’s a job to coax me back into my slot, as I need to be pushed and shoved quite a lot,
To make me fit in, amongst the big, colored glossy books that are my neighbors.
I’m waiting here, with patience, for the day when someone pulls me out and says,
‘I have been looking for you for simply ages!’
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