The Hidden Books

Hidden deep in castle old,

Ivy covered, clad in mold,

Kept for cen’tries from the light

Of harshest beams of bright sunlight,


Shelf on shelf of books, whose tales 

Of valor splendid, ancient vales,

Of kingdoms long since past and gone,

Lie forgotten, hid from sun.


So precious are these stories great,

That ‘scaped their fellows’ aging fate

And live now on, though other lays

Have not been heard for years of days;


But if they hidden so have been,

What good are they to mortal men

Who grasp and yearn for noble deeds,

And seek the path that to them leads?

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