We ought never judge a book by it’s cover;
or so it has often been said;
such also applies to a friend or lover;
at least, till their book has been read.
For the cover is what the authors show;
what they simply choose to reveal;
not really all that you should know;
there’s often so much to conceal.
The middle of their book contains gold;
the truth; who and what they are;
its where the story of their life is told;
concealment, only takes them so far.
Their book jacket is dressed up and clean;
it’s beauty and structure, draws you in:
that character, inside, may be quite mean;
deeper beauty may not reside within.
Others wear a plain dust cover;
their life has taken its toll;
reading their story, you’ll discover;
they bear an exquisite soul.
No book cover is very revealing;
only intended to grant you a seed;
without their careful concealing;
their book, you would never read.
All books have a story to tell;
their author’s soul, laid bare.
Is the author a demon from hell;
or one full of love and care?
External beauty is only skin’s depth;
with the depth of the soul, concealed;
thru promises, they’ve made and kept,
is the beauty of the soul, revealed.