Comforting

Familiar is this earthly language, these archives full to the brim. 
It must be how the world got magic, these rhymes of life and limb. 
A screen is a safe place, our havens are our keyboards, and kind strangers get these records of how our work expands. 
This place is detailed by a thousand ready hands, with brush strokes and with pen, oh what a joy to be a witness to this magic-making again and again and again. 
Who would've known, when I was new, the only thing my poems mean is 

Thank you.