Poetry

In a kingdom not far away, there was a little girl named Lillian. She was the youngest daughter of the king. Despite being an expert at causing trouble, she never actually got into any of it. On her twelfth birthday, the king invited Lillian to the dining room. On the table before the king was a very old wooden box. The king took the box, stood up, approached his daughter, and embraced her, saying, “God gifted you to me eleven years ago, and I am grateful to God for every one of these days.” ...

When there were no flowers on the face of the earth, not even a single flower, when flowers were a dream unknown, a little girl was playing in the garden in front of her house. She repeated the words she knew. She loved words and loved to repeat the word she learned before others. Mama, she repeated ten times. She repeated it as if it were a sweet candy and chewed it as if it were a red berry. ...

Somewhere in a neighboring village, there is a wonderful garden known only to a small number of people. Its owners have pure hearts and unique spirits. They are the fairies that still exist to this day. When the moment comes when the light of evening floods the universe and mixes with the horizon that wears the golden color mixed with pink silk, and the blueness of the night ends and darkness comes, the path of the fairies forms where they wake up slowly. ...