In the quiet of an untouched page,
Lies a world yet unexplored,
Where dreams dance in silent rage,
And whispers softly soar.

Each line a path untraveled,
Each word a seed of thought,
In the stillness, mysteries unraveled,
In silence, battles fought.

The paper holds a fragile grace,
A canvas for the soul’s desire,
In every fold, a gentle trace,
Of passions that never tire.

Oh, paper, bearer of untold tales,
In your silence, stories spring,
In endless white, a ship that sails,
On journeys yet to sing.