Believing in Magic

It’s easy, here in Wildling Wood,
where the moon casts her 
nightly spell. She tells 

the sky just how to brew 
and spill 
its starry secrets. 

The flowers bow and curtsy 
to the passing breeze, 
a whimsy’d waltz. 

Dragons dance with nymphs
and every soul gets 
a second chance. 

These tree limbs make 
prime paper skins and 
fine bookshelves. 

And they’re happy here, 
these wayward ones 
who’ve finally learned to be
-lieve in themselves. 

::

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