The Last Book

I am the last book on the shelf,

the final paper friend,

holding all my words myself

as digital worlds descend.

My pages smell of ink and time,

of hands that turned with care,

while screens in cold perfection shine

with stories light as air.

They scroll through tales that come and go,

forgetting as they read,

but stories in my pages grow

like living, breathing seed.

So let them have their fleeting light,

their pixels bright and new

I'll keep the stories through the night

and keep them warm for you.