A tome, unlike other fairytales, riveted me well,
Binding with scented parchment by the feathered spell.
Opening pages, engraved in reverse, quite mysterious,
Exercising the mind, unfolded the dancing words sense.
Turning forward, some pages, scripted in unfamiliar lexicon,
An enigmatic puzzle, relied on scholars, discovered the beacon.
Next pages, riddled with tiny holes, devoured by bookworms,
Unveiling the missing words, perused the remaining norms.
Reading constantly, some pages, alas, torn asunder,
Quest to reconstruct, found the missing with wonder.
Following, a few scripts, erased, ink-veiled mystery,
Engaged curiously, searched the second edition for history.
Hopeless, this, the final edition left, bereft of the final part,
With profound frustration, imagination overwhelms the heart.
Battling with mind, pondering the real denouement of the tale,
The ending, the saga of life, it’s all on you to script and prevail.
