Magic

Magic is the spell she weaves with her eyes, a smile And a touch at day's end. The children breathe their wonders out of their dreams Into my grownup soul as I watch them there, just lying asleep As the trees sigh secrets old as earth In the language of leaves swaying in the soft summer wind Outside, beneath the endless sky all full of distant diamonds, Worlds beyond number dancing a great wheel dance Slow and majestic with them, Falling forever through the velvet blackness. Magic is thunder and sunlight and water, The thousand thousand songs born of the spirit of life The tapestry woven and yet weaving itself Across all this most marvelous small world; It is the fact of our being, and the unspoken thoughts That transcend all speech, to make one whole Of the multitudes moving across it. This is Magic - not hat tricks, nor conjurations But the incantations of heartbeats and parents' prayers And the birth of hopes by candlelight and moonglow - The wish for all to be well; the belief that it will. Magic, like home, is a feeling, A respect for the Oneness beneath all things, A wanting to remember this with appreciation, A hope to do well and wish well for all, Through all our numbered days. Settle this in your heart, And you and I and all the world Are Magic.