On learning myself

For the dverse prompt, a couple of stanzas in the style of the Rubaiyat.

 

What did I dream before the words took hold

Before the sun, the moon, the stars grew old?

I squandered time, knew little of its worth,

Beneath soft nights of silver, days of gold.

 

The hand, the heart that guide the words to birth

Have grown in strength, an oak tree’s mighty girth,

Your face before me lighting day and night,

I learn to write the beauty of our earth.

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