The Iron Love

Cherry blossoms by the window,
whispering of love and hate,
watching unravel a story
of a pair that conquered fate.

Smell of ink from fragile pages
though damaged they hold the line,
covers shine all kinds of colors,
sending warmth right through your spine.

Smell of iron standing strong,
will not ever bend or break,
glowing out their pitch black darkness
always true and never fake.

Tons of books in every corner,
oh, the stories they could tell,
protected by shelves of iron,
for them they would go through hell.

One is fragile, other sturdy,
not a very balanced pair,
yet they stand there all the stronger,
such pure love is sadly rare.