Geoffrey Chaucer & Omar Khayyam - Creation of Universe.

In far off lands, where spice and myst entwine,

A scholar named Omar pondered deep alway,

Of universe's birth, a tapestry divine,

Where stars like scattered diamonds hold their sway.

 

He questioned thus, beneath the moon's pale gleam,

"Who brought this world from naught, this cosmic plan?

Did God speak forth, and wove a flowing stream,

Or from itself, Creation's course began?"

 

The desert sands whispered secrets in the night,

The wind-swept dunes, like waves on endless shore,

Gave back no answer, shed no guiding light,

Leaving Omar's thoughts to wander more and more.

 

"Perhaps," he mused, "the heavens spun unfurled,

A random dance of atoms, vast and grand,

No divine hand to shape this swirling world,

But chance alone, by an unseen command."

 

Yet in his heart, a doubt began to rise,

This order'd cosmos, with its clockwork grace,

The moonlit spheres that paint the starlit skies,

Seemed more than chaos in an empty space.

 

"Then is there purpose in this grand design?

Some hidden plan, a reason for our days?

Or do we wander, lost in passage of time,

Like fleeting shadows, with no destined ways?"

 

No answer came, the stars held close their tongue,

The desert echoed with his lonely quest,

But still he pondered, ever searching, young,

For truth's bright spark within his yearning breast.

 

For though no voice from heavens did resound,

Omar, with wisdom, sought a path to tread,

To live with purpose on this hallowed ground,

And fill his days with knowledge, bravely said.