In dusty corners of forgotten shelves,
The whispers of old tales reside,
Each page a portal to realms unseen,
Where dreams and reality collide.

The ink, a river of endless thoughts,
Flowing through the minds of the wise,
Carving paths through time and space,
A journey where every spirit flies.

From ancient scrolls to modern prose,
The heartbeat of literature remains,
A symphony of voices, loud and soft,
Singing songs of joys and pains.

So let us cherish these sacred tomes,
Guardians of our collective lore,
For within their boundless depths,
Lies the key to evermore.