In a world of fleeting moments and whispers lost in air,
The paper holds the stories, the secrets, the despair.
Each line a gentle echo of thoughts once deeply felt,
A testament to journeys where silent dreams had dwelt.

The ink flows like a river, through valleys of the mind,
It captures fleeting visions, and memories left behind.
On the fragile canvas, emotions find their place,
A mirror to the soul, where heart and hand embrace.

The pages turn with whispers, of lives and loves once known,
They carry echoes softly, of seeds that have been sown.
With every fold and crease, a fragment of the past,
The paper stands in silence, a witness that will last.

So let us cherish paper, for in its gentle hold,
Lies the weight of words unspoken, and stories yet untold.
A simple sheet of paper, yet so profound and deep,
It guards the dreams of many, in silence they will keep.