The Last Librarian Poem by Sumita Jetley

The bakery closed, then went the store,
One by one, life left the door.
Quiet streets, empty skies,
A town of whispers, fading cries.

The people packed, they said goodbye,
I watched them go, but wondered why.
Couldn't they see, the heart's still here?
In dusty books, in stories dear.

I stood alone, this town was mine,
With shelves of tales and broken signs.
A single spark, I thought, could stay,
And turn the night back into day.

Storytime on Saturday,
A movie night to light the way.
I wrote to friends, I asked them near,
Could we rebuild, or disappear?

Then one day, a café bloomed,
Like hope within a dusty room.
A florist came, a boutique too,
The quiet town, it slowly grew.

With every smile, the street would hum,
What once was lost had now begun.
No grand design, no sweeping plan,
Just love for home from one last hand.

So here I stand, the books still neat,
And people walking down the street.
It wasn't gold, it wasn't fame,
That saved this town—it was a name.

One person stayed, one heart held true,
And that, my friend, was all it knew.