In the quiet hall where shadows play,
Stand the doors, both old and wise,
Guardians of stories, night and day,
Keeping secrets beneath the skies.

Each door a passage to unknown dreams,
With worn handles of brass and gold,
They creak open with gentle beams,
To worlds where stories are retold.

Behind one, laughter fills the air,
Beyond another, tears softly fall,
Yet each door stands with a noble flair,
Embracing all who heed their call.

So walk through these portals of time,
Let their whispers guide your way,
For behind each frame, a gentle chime,
Awaits the dawn of a new day.