The Book Of Praise

I found a small book of praise discarded in a box of give aways.
It fit neatly in my palm as if it were meant to.
Its spine bereft and exposed.
I opened it carefully and spilling from its stale pages the sweetest of music poured, as if the poets of old, vaguely kindred to me, sang their heart songs this dry morning with the same conviction they did the first moment inspired.
And closing its brittle pages, I smiled at my treasure and looked forward to its opening another morning.