Leather-bound books on the sorcerer’s shelf,
Offer a perch for the magical elf,
Watching the chemicals fume:
Vapors of sulfur and alchemist’s brew.
Melting to gold in a mystical stew,
Stinking the cob-webbed room.
Then the mad sorcerer grabs his small friend,
Saying, “An elf will add zest to my blend,”
Plunges him into the vat;
Later the sorcerer’s body is found
Horribly scalded to death with no sound,
Elf-prints all over his hat.
Copyright © Steve Eng