In the quiet of a dusty room,
Lies an old chair with tales untold,
Its wooden arms bear gentle grooves,
Whispering secrets of moments bold.

A faded lamp stands by its side,
Casting shadows on the worn-out floor,
Its light flickers like a distant star,
Guarding memories of days before.

An ancient clock ticks softly now,
Echoing time with a steady grace,
Its hands move slowly, yet they weave,
Stories of past in a timeless space.

Books rest gently on a crooked shelf,
Pages yellowed with the touch of years,
Each spine a portal to other worlds,
Where dreams danced amidst quiet cheers.