Untouched Books

Dirty fingerprints crust the pages
Of the books of forgotten lore
That have laid here before all ages
Untouched from before-

Unconcerned with reason or rhyme,
Longing for those finger-shaped prints,
They have waited all this time,
To be imprinted with darkened tints

But all that meets them is the chilly air,
And the quiet whispers of phantoms past;
And still they wait with silent flair,
To be marked with fingers again at last