In the heart of endless tomes, wisdom breathes,
Shelves cradle stories, each one a soul’s dream.
Where whispers of ages gently weave,
A tapestry of knowledge in moon’s soft gleam.

The quiet rustle of pages turning,
Echoes softly in the sacred space,
A haven where minds are yearning,
To find solace in the written grace.

Under the glow of a dim-lit lamp,
Worlds unfold in tender lines,
Adventures penned by hands now damp,
With the ink of time that never confines.

In this library’s sacred embrace,
Imagination takes its endless flight,
A realm where dreams find their place,
In the boundless dance of day and night.