In shadows of the ancient tomes,
Where whispers of the past reside,
A tapestry of dreams unfolds,
In ink and paper’s gentle glide.

The quill becomes a wand of light,
Weaving tales of distant lands,
Where heroes rise and fall like waves,
In time’s unending, shifting sands.

The pages turn with whispered grace,
Each line a thread of silver spun,
Binding hearts across the ages,
In stories told, yet never done.

In quiet corners, minds ignite,
As words become the soul’s embrace,
A dance of thoughts, forever twined,
In literature’s eternal space.