In the quiet aisles where dreams reside,
Shelves hold whispers of distant lands.
Pages turn, a rustling tide,
Guided by unseen, gentle hands.

Shadows dance in candlelit glow,
Stories breathe in muted air.
Each book a portal, a world to know,
In silence, wanderers find their fare.

The scent of paper, aged and wise,
Echoes of voices long since passed.
Beneath the dome of endless skies,
Time stands still, yet moves so fast.

Here lies the heart of endless lore,
Where minds unite in whispered song.
A sacred refuge forevermore,
In this hallowed library, we belong.