In the heart of Maine where the pines stand tall, Lies a bookstore, cherished, a haven for all. With weathered wood and a creaky old door, It whispers of tales that were written before. Dust motes dance in the soft golden light, As shelves filled with stories invite you to write. From classics to treasures, each page a delight, The oldest of bookstores, a beacon so bright. The scent of old paper, a comforting hug, Each corner a memory, each nook a warm rug. With tales of the sea and the mountains so grand, It holds the soul of this wondrous land. The owner, a keeper of secrets untold, Shares stories of sailors and lovers of old. In this timeless retreat where the world feels anew, The heart of Maine's history beats strong and true. So here in this sanctuary, let your spirit roam, Among volumes of wisdom, you’ll find a new home. For the oldest bookstore, with its charm and its grace, Is a treasure of Maine, a beloved embrace.
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