My study groans beneath the weight of lore,
No space remains for volumes newly found;
I tuck them into corners, yet implore
That none be lost, though shelves with books abound.
I long to keep the elders close at hand,
To turn their pages when my mind would roam;
Yet chaos reigns, no order can withstand,
The chamber feels more coffin than a home.
I dreamed to build an antechamber bright,
Where wisdom’s voice could echo, clear and free;
But counsel came: embrace the modern light,
An e-reader shall serve as library.
Though paper fades, the words endure the same,
Preserved in pixels, still alive in flame.
