In the quiet corners of ancient libraries,
Where dust and dreams entwine,
The whispers of old pages speak,
Of tales and truths divine.

The ink of timeless scribes,
On parchment worn and frayed,
Holds a universe of wonder,
In every line displayed.

Through epochs and through eras,
The quill’s soft serenade,
Weaves the fabric of our souls,
With every word conveyed.

So let us dance in reverence,
To literature’s endless grace,
For in its boundless embrace,
We find our rightful place.