The books sat on the shelves
Waiting for centuries
For a warm hand
To unfold their leaves
And shake off the ancient dust

The candles stood afraid
At the top of the shelves
Ever silent, afraid of ignition
Afraid of fire
To light their twisted wicks

The child came
Read the books
Litthe candles
Day and night
For many years

The child came out from the library
Now a strong man
Of wisdom and wit
Brimming with ideas
Brilliant ideas

The candles sighed
The books cried
They created a man
Of good moral
Sacrifice and patience

Then they waited again
For years, unnoticed
And a child once again entered
Lighted the candles
Turned the pages

The man’s son
The man’s grandson
His legacy
The library
Lingered for generations

Not in existence
But in the mind
Always there
Transmitted then relayed
Never forgotten.