The Death of Magic

The herald-mage raced To the sacred place Where Mystery and Magic abound. He threw down his wand, And broke the fierce bond That gripped the village and town. He knew that after He’d courted disaster The price, indeed, would be high. But he never imagined That such a reaction Would cause all the Magic to die. He climbed mountain high To where earth touched the sky, Above where the valley unfolded. He called upon gods With gestures and nods And with voice both enraged and emboldened: “I command thee this night To return me the right, The power of Magic to hold! For without the Magic Everything would be tragic; Return!” he cried loudly and bold. Then as night stole about He began to have doubt That the gods would the power return. And indeed, with long thought They almost did naught But as morning sun brightly did burn, The gods all agreed And did swiftly decree That Magic was needed again. So with powers restored, And new wand on board The mage did return to his den. He may be there still At the foot of the hill Protecting his land and kin. --Barbara Selby