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
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