In the quiet corners of an ancient library,
Where dust dances with beams of sunlight’s grace,
Lie the whispers of forgotten tomes,
Cradled in the arms of silence’s embrace.

Each page a portal to realms unknown,
Stories etched with the quill of time,
In ink that flows like rivers of dreams,
Binding hearts with verses sublime.

Characters breathe with life anew,
In the corridors of readers’ minds,
Their tales woven in a tapestry,
Of emotions felt and journeys defined.

Oh, literature, your eternal flame,
Illuminates the shadows of the soul,
A refuge for those who seek,
In your boundless depths, to be whole.