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She, the creator of a world,
In a realm of propitious peace,
Where ancient tomes are tightly furled,
And knowledge never seems to cease.
Her books are bound in leather old,
With secrets hiding in each page,
A lifetime's worth of stories told,
From every era and every age.
The shelves are tall and packed with care,
The bindings worn from countless reads,
A place where anyone can share,
The tales of those from distant deeds.
She lives among the tomes she's made,
A world of words she's brought to life,
A sanctuary where thoughts cascade,
And time stands still, devoid of strife.
For her, this realm is all she needs,
With knowledge as her guiding light,
A place where she can plant her seeds,
And watch them grow, both day and night.acht
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