She gave me that before she left,
And told me that it’s mightier than the sword,
And her knowledge, as if it all with that thing into me was poured.
I was small, a little kid,
I then didn’t know what she hid,
Under that enormous knowledge lid.
But as time passed by that pen grew old,
I grew up and I grew bold,
And then, after all this while the worth of a pen, to me, was equal to, if not more, a mountain made of gold.