At birth's gentle dawn, a destiny unfurled,
A pen, a book, a brain, the gifts of this world.
In tender innocence, I held them with care,
Embracing the wonders they had to share.

The pen, an instrument of creation and dreams,
A conduit for words, like sparkling moonbeams.
With ink, I would craft tales, both humble and grand,
Gifting life to stories, within my command.

The book, a portal to realms yet untold,
Whispering secrets, its pages unfold.
In its embrace, I found solace and delight,
Immersed in its tales, adventuring through the night.

But the greatest gift bestowed upon my being,
Was the...