“The Garden of Glass Wings”

In a quiet valley kissed by the morning mist,

a secret garden bloomed beyond human reach.

Each flower shimmered like a drop of crystal,

and the trees wore cloaks woven from silver threads.

Among them danced creatures not of flesh, but of light—

butterflies with glass wings, delicate and unbreakable.

They floated between golden sunbeams,

singing songs only the soul could hear.

The river that cut through the valley whispered secrets,

its waters glowing with the memories of fallen stars.

On the hill stood an ancient gate of marble and moss,

carved with symbols older than time itself.

It was said those who crossed the gate found not treasure,

but the truth they had long forgotten.

A young wanderer arrived one twilight,

drawn by dreams of colors unseen by waking eyes.

Their footsteps barely stirred the jeweled grass.

Eyes wide, heart racing, they approached the gate.

With trembling hands, they pushed it open—

and the garden sighed in welcome.

Every glass-winged butterfly lifted in flight,

swirling around the wanderer like a living halo.

Visions poured into their mind:

memories of a world before sorrow,

before walls, before forgetting.

Tears blurred their sight, yet they smiled,

feeling the garden’s eternal embrace.

And when the sun rose again,

the garden had a new guardian—

a soul who had remembered how to dream.