In the quiet embrace of towering shelves,
Words dance in shadows, softly they dwell,
Each spine a portal to distant lands,
Stories woven by invisible hands.
The scent of paper, aged and wise,
Echoes of voices, a gentle reprise,
Beneath the arches of timeworn wood,
A sanctuary where wisdom stood.
Silent whispers of ink and lore,
Beckon the curious to explore,
Between the pages, secrets lie,
Waiting for a wandering eye.
In this haven, the world unfurls,
A tapestry rich with tales and pearls,
A library, where time suspends,
And every book, a timeless friend.