Her Magic

Words from her fingers, Paper and pencil's magic, Trapping her, Pulling her deeper into the magic of her words, The music fades into the background, Her fingers fly across the page racing to keep up with her thoughts, A masterpiece is born, To a child's fingers, Barely fourteen and magic dwells within her, Touched by the gods, Free as the wind, No prophicies, No sonets, Nothing perfect, Or set in stone, Simply beautiful words on paper, She is not a master, No one is, She is an apprentice who will never be done learning.