Stale yellow pages
adorned with black ink.
Smelling like thick choking dust,
With a fiction in which can sink.
Completely silent in this room.
No echoes on these tall shelves,
Filled with intelligence and other worlds,
in which I can delve.
It's warm with all the papers,
Forest smells come with the tables.
Quite whispering of readers,
Quietly telling the air it's tales.
There's ladders on the towers,
They'll show you what this universe holds.
That's where I'll go next,
To the times of thee old.
-My ideal little library-
©Odd
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