Lined with walls of privacy, Or, perhaps, proudly displayed. Gentle, tender, care for me, I'll give you things, Which you'll then claim to have made

Some may refer to me as a valley but I think my name sounds sweeter My first letter matches the first of my color and I think that makes me neater

You spit me out with your breath You burn me , adorn me , and make sheets of me Civilizations depend on me , for I am in all things living These are my many forms What is my true identity?

Plucked out of birds, I am now dipped in ink and used to write

Oh my goodness, in the garden's gentle embrace, a soft, silent sponge spreads snugly, sipping sunshine, sharing secrets softly with stones. It's nature's green carpet, oh how it clings to time!