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Don't Drink from Your Sorcerer
by Peter Earsman

"Is there magic?" asked Katrina eyes wide-round and ocean-deep,
"Are there wizards? Are there witches? Are there trolls?
Are there fairy wings awhisper in my bedroom when I sleep?
Is there secret life in all my toys and dolls?"

And I pondered for a moment, how to make my answer clear,
For of things from other worlds I seldom speak,
I reject the paranormal, logic won't permit or hear
False phenomena adhered to by the meek.

Could I sink her ship of wonder with my prejudice and scorn,
When the child is every day and night surrounded,
By the wonders of the universe, of things on pure wings borne,
With my own thoughts blunt, and logically grounded?

With her little mind awash with colour - a kalaidescope,
It would seem I had no right to crush her dreams,
And I'm sure inside her question, 'neath the fear there hides a hope,
That the world is just as magic as it seems.

So I cupped her tender chin there in my hand and stroked her hair,
And with gentle voice I laid her doubts to rest,
How it's all a load of garbage, and there ain't a damn thing there,
Now go on outside and play, don't be a pest.

Copyright Peter Earsman March 2000