Leaves of a Story

Beneath the canopy where stories grow,
Each leaf keeps a fable it learned long ago.
Veins hold the words the wind once said,
Tales written in green, then gently read.

Here, stories do not shout or strive—
They breathe, they linger, they stay alive.
Fables fall softly, leaf by leaf,
Gathered in shade, pressed in belief.

If you listen close, the leaves will speak:
Every story begins fragile, and ends unique.

REVISED: 01.03.2026
cliques