Until I am used, a Blank canvas awaits, Words dance in silent whispers, To tell Fragile stories that deliver. I come from a tree but not with a breeze, Although you can say I am a white leaf

I begin in pieces, but end as a whole. When you finish I vanish entirely.

I have a tube, but no TV. I have lenses, but no eyes. I can show you the stars, but I cannot make them shine. What am I?

I'll protect you from the cold, the wind, the rain, the snow. I have teeth and arms but no head or legs. I'm thick or thin. Light or heavy. I have no specific color. Some type of bee even partially shares its name with me.

I have many twisting arms but no hands, and I drink from the sun and the rain. My children are born in heavy purple or green clusters, only to be crushed so they may age in a cellar.