Transmutation

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.