A student reads a book in a sunlit library, surrounded by stacks of books.

The sun creeps high on longer days, Through library glass in golden haze. Notes like petals strewn in flight, Coffee cups from sleepless nights. The campus hums with quiet strain, Final papers, mental rain. Books are stacked like leaning towers, He counts the days, he counts the hours. A mind once fresh with autumn’s fire Now flickers low, but won’t expire. His dreams, like ivy, climb and cling— To every hope that spring will bring. He walks through halls of fading stress, A little worn, a little less. But in his chest, a steady beat: The nearing sound of summer’s feet. So close now—just one final run, Then skies will stretch, and he’ll be done. For now, he turns the page once more, A student standing at the door. See more