Bertrand

In Lisbon’s heart, a time-worn treasure lies,
Livraria Bertrand, where knowledge never dies,
The oldest bookstore in the world’s embrace,
A sanctuary of stories, an intellectual space.

With history’s whispers upon each shelf,
A literary haven, where hearts find themselves,
Founded in 1732, the world it’s seen,
Pages filled with dreams, both old and keen.

Worn wooden floors and antique tomes,
In this haven of stories, the weary heart roams,
Each book a portal, to worlds afar,
In Livraria Bertrand, beneath each star.

The smell of aged parchment, a dusty charm,
Lingers in the air, like a silent psalm,
Where authors and readers, they meet and connect,
In this sacred place, intellects intersect.

From literature classics to poems profound,
In this world of books, wisdom is found,
Amidst the hushed whispers of ink and quill,
The joy of exploration, a lifelong thrill.

Fernando Pessoa’s musings, in corners reside,
His many selves, with secrets they confide,
José Saramago’s words, in pages concealed,
A Nobel laureate’s thoughts, so deeply revealed.

Luís de Camões, whose epic tales unfold,
His “Lusiads” and feats of the bold,
Florbela Espanca’s verses, passionate and true,
In this hallowed space, her emotions imbue.

Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen’s grace,
Her lyrical lines, in this timeless place,
A poetic treasure trove, where hearts convene,
In Livraria Bertrand, where the past is seen.

In Lisbon’s heart, this bookstore stands tall,
A testament to literature’s encompassing thrall,
Where the words of giants and dreamers find rest,
In this sanctuary of books, forever to be blessed.