The library breathes lightly,
as dust blossoms in amber pools,
each speck a universe unspoken,
echoing tales of evermore unspoken.
Between the shadows and the light,
voices whisper in binding's embrace,
tales linger where words dissolve into grains,
silent symphonies for the waiting ear.
Do you hear them sing?
Do you hear their rustling dreams?
In the absence, a melody is born,
woven within the fabric of time's gentle weep.