I've had my book for many years; who knows from whence it came?
Perhaps it was a Christmas gift from some forgotten name.
Perhaps a rummage sale was where I found this book of mine,
But I've perused it, front to back, and treasured every line.

And now it's dog eared and it's scuffed; The cover's rubbed and worn,
But still its words encourage me, though many a page is torn!
I've read it in my times of stress;It's helped me through my grief,
It's magnified my happy days with joys beyond belief!

Each day I've read a verse or two in search of inspiration.
No matter if I'm glad or sad, it's met my expectation.
I'd find some well remembered lines and read them through once more,
Secure in knowing that those words would help me as before!

I read them still; It matters not that I recall each page.
They've been a bulwark through the years, from youth to Golden Age.
And I have treasured my small book, since I was but a stripling!
Who authored this inspiring work?
A man named Rudyard Kipling.

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