I found myself standing before a marble
building, spanning nearly twice a city block.
Above six tall columns, “New York Public Library”
was engraved in its facade’s smooth rock.
From the street, I noticed two elegant statues
guarding the grand building as a pair.
A duo of handsome stone lions flanked
its steps, gazing forward in a focused stare.
As I walked toward the northern lion, I heard
grinding gravel as if under a heavy truck’s tire.
Not a soul was on the street, and for a moment,
I panicked, unsure of what was about to transpire.
But once I’d caught my bearings, I realized
it was one of the stone lions—he had come alive.
“Welcome to our library,” he spoke,
“We’re the keepers of this hallowed archive.”
“My name is Fortitude, and over there,
that’s Patience, my identi
