I finally pick a book on the third shelf
Which was higher than I thought
I made a jump for it
And the book landed in my arms
Letting a tiny note slip out.
It was a list of dates and names
Of the previous readers
I flipped the piece of paper
And to my surprise
I found a love note to Sarah
From a lad named Mark.
He described his love using page numbers from the book
And asked her to treasure those priceless looks
A bond made over love for failed literature
I begin to imagine this situation sixty eight years ago