My Poor Little Bible

by Virginia Ellis
© 2000

My poor little Bible,
So plain, unadorned,
My poor little Bible,
So old and so worn.

Its pages are loosened,
They're no longer secure,
The printing is faded,
Small letters a blur.

It's been touched and manhandled,
And marked with a pen,
By chance, it's been dropped,
But picked up again.

It's been lost; it's been found,
It once went away,
But when it came back,
It came back to stay.

My poor little Bible,
I hold next to me,
I feel it's attached,
Like a limb to a tree.

It's been read; it's been quoted,
It's been fully shared,
It's my favorite book,
Of course, it shows wear.

Its black leather cover,
Is dried now and cracked,
Its poor dog-eared pages,
Will never turn back.

Though it may have grown old,
And it may show its age,
Each verse is still valued,
On each delicate page.

The cover may go,
The pages may fray,
Yet the word stays the same,
Each day after day.

It still is my treasure,
My staff, my support,
My anchor, my foothold,
My protection, my fort.

I depend on this Bible,
To me it is dear,
It must sustain me,
The rest of my years.

My poor little Bible,
So plain, unadorned,
My poor little Bible,
So old and so worn.

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