He found the brown journal on the train,
A simple one, with a cover plain.

There was no name, nor address inside,
And the pages, with ribbon were tied.

He wondered to whom it did belong,
And whether to read it would be wrong.

He carried it for many a day,
Thinking what the diary would say.

After some months, he made up his mind,
Hoped clue to the owner he would find.

Once, twice, thrice, the pages he did flip,
When from the back cover, fell the slip.

"Dear Stranger, I know you must be stumped,
Puzzled why this journal has been dumped,

It's intentional, but is no prank,
This diary, like my life, is blank."