An object stands in front of me:
beautiful for me to see.
Fine, with brown leather bound,
golden tooling all around.
Inside, the quires tightly sewn,
folds and pockets that are shown:
what genius has made
the binding, quires overlaid.
In some gracious abbey grounds,
the writing in the book astounds:
gothic in rotunda script,
perfect letters capped and lipped.
Meliora sunt ubera tua vino.
Glad in writing once to show
a love so deeply felt:
love in Latin perfect spelt.
In red and blue the floriation
rounds out perfect the creation,
initials square illuminated
with bird and person historiated
and vellum the medium where
one wrote, side flesh or hair.
Letters in a column bold
to tell the story that is told
and always to convey
what happened yesteryear, yesterday.
Knights and all their ladies fair
striving to be everywhere
the ones remembered long:
a potent joust, a love so wrong.
Medieval codex, I salute you.
You have carried me through and through
back to all those golden days
which reading this book still conveys,
bound with quires careful made,
love well written and displayed.
I will forever always need
what lies in you still more to read.
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