Chaucer's Canterbury Tales

The fine old leather cover shows its age,
embossed in gold leaf with a subtle shine;
painstakingly hand-sewn with flaxen twine,
and brownish age-spots fleck each gold-edged page.
The flyleaf bears a name that no-one knows…
there, clearly written in a woman's hand,
is 'Cynthia', and 'eighteen-fifty' and
although the old ink's faded, this still shows.

She kept it well, did Cynthia, now I
shall too – for not a page is bent or torn.
This well read book was cherished, and I've sworn
I'll love and cherish it as she; and try
my best to read a Canterbury Tale –
more likely though, I'll wepe and wringe and waille!