The Library

Wonder what kind of mysteries,

Still lie in this library?

Its old wood creaking in the breeze,

And beyond its walls, rustling of leaves.

...

So many years in here I've spent.

Over countless written works I've bent.

From fiction-non to literaries,

To genre works, away with fairies.

...

Deep into these writings dive,

Into fictional and real lives.

By plot twists been caught unaware,

Run emotions from joy to despair.

...

Years pass by, and I still grow,

And even now in library show.

With these works I still engage,

As a master of the page.