In the quiet corners of a dusty shelf,
Where tales of old and new reside,
A world unfolds in whispered breath,
The pages turn, a vast ocean wide.

Words dance upon the silent air,
In rhythms soft, yet bold and bright,
Each letter weaves a story rare,
A tapestry of day and night.

The ink of dreams flows like a stream,
Through valleys deep and mountains high,
Each line a path, a whispered dream,
Guiding hearts to the endless sky.

Oh, literature, your timeless grace,
A beacon through the mists of time,
In every word, a sweet embrace,
A melody, a perfect rhyme.