A lament to the bookmark…

No, I;m not a poet.

One thing I truly lament, with the passing of hard copy books into eBooks, is the associated passing of bookmarks, which inspired this: 

From fancy to plain,

Reading will ne'er be the same,

From the exquisitely crafted,

To the message stuck in passing,

The ticket stub,

Much creased with love.

The airplane ticket,

Marking a particular visit.

To the endearing quote,

And the beloved note.

The bookmark was as all,

As it was nothing.

A thought filled gift,

An accidental grift,

It's purpose apparent,

It’s location often errant.

A thing, as much as a meaning,

Never let it be said,

That the thing least read,

Give's the most value, for nothing.

Please, always buy books, or what will become of all the bookmarks?