The power of blank white paper, as pure as a blanket of snow, untouched by the creatures of the woods
A pen,like the footprints of an animal, leaves a story behind, each print a word, each trail a sentence
By the end of the day, that paper,that blanket of snow, had a story to tell
Of course the snow will leave, but paper forever remains, soaked in ink, each crease and fold scarred on the sheet
Not even pencil can be removed without trace of what was once a sentence, a trail of snow
Paper has made peace, but also war
Sent love,but also pain
You can give the best news, or the passing of a loved one
Not only does paper speak in writing, but if folded and creased, sentimental value will show it's virtue, all on a blank piece of paper, on that blanket of snow
