Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo

My body was opened and upon my gentle spine
a lovely endearing message carefully inscribed,
she held me like a newborn,
and breathed into me her thoughts,
she then left me alone in a tiny box.

I'm a gift from one to another, the holder of caring words,
unlike any other I've traveled to other worlds.
The name upon my cover is that of Leigh Bardugo,
it is she who filled me with wisdom long ago,
she is my mother but she is not my friend,
she is not my purpose nor who I am.

Now I sit upon a shelf a treasured item book for a young girl,
yet is she my purpose to watch her through her life?
To carry her through moments filled with tears and strife?

Or am I a reminder of times already passed,
of a young caring friend once in her class, has my only purpose already come to pass?
Was I meant to shield her as she quietly cried
for the gentle words of her friends gone by?
Was my purpose to make her laugh as she read my pages,
to provide relief from the world and the harsh, harsh ages?

Maybe my true purpose is still yet to come,
when I am old and she no longer young,
to remind her of friends and women long ago passed,
of days that came and went much too fast.