365 Days of Creativity
day fourty eight
Master sits on stilts so high.
His robes a forest, eyes the sky.
I kneel before this old young man,
take his knowledge, take his hand.
Words of wisdom, never said.
Innocence, enters my head.
Eras gone, the gods do perish.
Bold and brave, new worlds to cherish.
And he's lived all, a soul through worlds.
All of space, his to unfurl.
Weaving threads, through maps and time.
Singing songs, with muted rhymes.
Lessons learned and lessons lost.
This is my dawn. My birth. My cost.
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