Was it you?

Who lent fire to my wings?
When I was an ugly duckiling,
Paddling hard below the waterline.
When I was awkward and shy
To fly, to explore and to express.

I am now a falcon, that
Roves the skies in proud loneliness
The sky too big for its strength
The earth too low to fly about.
The roar of the winds yet sways it not.

The sea is too wide for this ship.
Yet it chugs on its course straight
The dawns and the dusks occur on it
As late as nature ordains a change.
The storms never have their say.

This vista never changed but, for ages.
The same gliding beauty across the
Vast plain made live by the deep river.
The beholder far across on the horizon
Never noticed to protest the dull skyline.

But the book keeps the poetry flowing.
The verses never wavered in purpose.
You keep occurring in them
Like the sun and the moon,
Lighting up those bleak passages.

Was it you then?