Library Serenade

In halls of hushed and hallowed space,

Where sunlight dusts each turning page,

Two souls, by verse's gentle grace,

Met in a literary stage.

She sought the Romantics' fervent fire,

He found in modern lines a gleam,

Their fingers brushed, a soft desire,

Beside a poet's waking dream.

No booming words, no grand display,

But whispers in the poetry nook,

Where shared lines brightened every day,

And knowing glances spoke a book.

He brought her Tagore's mystic art,

She left him Dickinson's sharp wit,

A silent language of the heart,

In verses beautifully writ.

The library, a quiet keep,

Became a haven, soft and low,

Where secrets that the spirit deep

Could only through the stanzas show.

And in that calm and bookish air,

A tender bloom began to rise,

A love discovered, sweet and rare,

Reflected in their reading eyes.

So let the shelves stand witness true,

To whispers in that gentle place,

Where love, like ink on pages new,

Found its beginning, time cannot erase.