In a room where dust has settled, silent voices call,  

The weight of ages presses down, old tomes in quiet rows,  

And knowledge breathes its final sigh beneath the starlit vault.

Once scholars gathered here, their thoughts a fleeting glow,  

The air thick with whispers of forgotten wisdom,  

Echoes linger where the pages meet the fingers’ touch.

Words etched in leather, bound in fading, gold-streaked dreams,  

The past is etched on every line, a shadowed imprint,  

While the present stands in reverent stillness, lost to time.

In the cool embrace of night, the library rests,  

Its secrets kept from those who wander in curiosity,  

A timeless shrine where shadows guard the sacred space.