Once you seemed mystical, wonderful, dangerous.
The diviner of secrets, the teller of truth.
Your words held me spellbound, entranced and confused
forming intricate patterns, believed without proof.

Then you were daring, rebellious, engaging
with your riddles and clues, fables and tales.
You inspired my yearning, searching and needing
for the magic of living, over mountains and vales.

Now where is your magic, sparkle, mystery
that gave me the basis of what I’ve become?
Gone like the moonlight, stardust and potions.
Vanished like mist in the blazing, white sun.

© S. McLean 1995


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