Journal Jotting

Born to record my memories,
it has tumbled to many lands,
fragile tea stained pages tickled my fingers,
given with love, written by many hands.

I remembered the last I used it,
in the crowded city of Rome,
seeing ancient buildings standing proud,
then sadly, we had to go home.

Worn leather stroked by reminiscing fingers,
like I’m the celebrity within, and, its greatest fan,
paper thin as an old pound note,
forever a gift of memoirs in my hand.