It may not have the classic touch;
Perhaps it lacks the stylist's art;
Its plot may not amount to much;
But yet its pages touch my heart.

There's pathos in each word I read,
There's tragedy in every line.
But still I seek in times of need
That battered old check book of mine.

Its characters are humble, yet
Each one's a rare and precious gem.
I never can repay my debt,
For all I have I owe to them.

And so, although no vellum rare
Encases it, nor leather fine,
No book I own can quite compare
With that old friend — check book of mine.