What’s one thing you own that holds deep sentimental value?

My Father’s Bible

What is the one thing I own
that holds a world I’ve never known?
Not gold, nor silver, nor a key,
but this worn book he left to me.

Its black leather, frayed and cracked,
is like a road, well-travelled, tracked.
The spine is loose, the pages fall,
a testament to use, through all.

His fingerprints are on each leaf,
a testament to faith and grief.
A life lived out in ink and pen,
the thoughts of an old, faithful man.

In margins, notes in hurried hand,
a voice I struggle to understand.
A question asked, a comfort sought,
a battle fought, a lesson taught.

And pressed between the chapters lie
loose sheets of paper, catching my eye.
A sermon point, a name, a date,
a simple, handwritten note of weight.

It is not just a book of text,
but of the life that came before the next.
A tatty, battered, sacred thing,
from which a father’s whispers sing.

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© Richard J Kirk  – 2026.

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