Written on the pages of a diary
In the middle somewhere
Is a name of a person you don’t remember
Doing something you would deny today.
In the shoe you left by the fireplace
To get warm
Or to dry off
Lies a pebble you will discard.
In a country you’ve never heard of
In a region you won’t take the time to look up
Lives a people
With the most beautiful language.
There is a book
Coveted by millions
Will you ever take a look?
Or will you hate them, and it, because you were told?
There is a woman
That cried herself to sleep
Feeling useless and unimportant
Without anyone to tell her she was wrong.