In the quiet corners of forgotten shelves,
Dusty tomes whisper tales untold,
Pages soft with the weight of time,
Holding secrets the ages hold.
Ink dances in shadows cast by candlelight,
Words weave worlds both strange and bright,
Echoes of voices long since gone,
Yet their stories linger on.
Bound in leather, worn and frayed,
Each book a portal to realms uncharted,
A bridge between hearts and minds,
Where the present meets the departed.
In the embrace of literature’s embrace,
We find solace and endless grace,
A timeless dance between past and present,
In every word, a journey transcendent.