The Dusty Soul

Uncaring of health,
A soul sits on a shelf,
Dusty and forlorn.

It waits to be read,
By an outcast head,
Whose loneliness snuffles.

The words it contain,
Will keep a man sane,
In the hard life to come.

They're the kind that befriend,
That generously send,
Contentment into the fold.

For pity's sakes,
For past mistakes,
For rescues in the river.

For life anew,
For a vivacious clue,
For triumph in end.