Steal Away

Today, out beside the football field, covered in the sand of the volleyball pit, was this book.
This book was an old paperback and both the front cover and the back cover had been anonymously warn off.
Now, I am one of those people who, when I see something that looks ancient, I race for it, and attempt to claim it.
At first, I believe it to be an old, discarded telephone book. (Why? Because I have a knack for finding those.)
I reach down and pluck it from the ground before any other of my other -also treasure-hoarding- friends do.
What a shame it was... The book was gritty with sand, and damp, and the last fifty or so pages were crumpled from what I expected to be pressure, poor care, and the elements.
I do the responsible thing, and once gym period ended, I took it to the library.
I was hoping they did not have such a book in stock only because they would be awfully disappointed if this happened.
Thankfully, and to my glee, the library had no such record of a book titled Steal Away.
I actually wrote this poem out of sympathy for the book itself and boredom. That, and the words seemed to just come to me.

If you would like to know: The book is by Jennifer Armstrong (An author not worn off from the paper-back binding.) And from what I can tell, its setting is in the 1800's.
The chapters are titled by years... sadly, only pages 1-136 are completely readable. The last page who's numbers are not massacred is 196. I distinctly recall ripping the last twenty pages off myself (with no back cover-mind you) because they were so badly crumpled and torn that not a single paragraph could be salvaged.

Now the book sits here beside me with a faux sketch-paper binding.
I think reading it would not be a bad idea...