In dusty libraries, where shadows roam,
Between the shelves, the whispers hum.
Of ancient tales and verse unknown,
The silent echoes of wisdom come.

Pages yellowed by the hands of time,
Ink that fades but never dies.
In every word, a gentle rhyme,
A glimpse of life from olden skies.

The scent of leather, the crack of spine,
A symphony of ages past.
Each book a portal, a sacred shrine,
To worlds that everlast.

So let us wander, hand in hand,
Through stories rich and vast.
In the realm of literature, we stand,
Where dreams and memories are cast.