They tell me that magic is long dead.
That the woods are silent and the elves have fled.
There are no dragons that hoard chests of gold.
No giants who lurk in the terrible cold.
No dwarf hammers non-stop beneath the earth.
There are no spirits of home and hearth.
Once you could walk into magical woods.
Or trade with the druids for archaic goods.
A Princess could be found, caged in a tower.
You just had to kill a monster with powers.
There was a time when nymphs danced in the pools.
Alas now we all are taught otherwise in schools.
They tell me about science, show me the books.
When I tell them about magic, they give me the looks.
I must be mad to think that magic is not dead.
But how can it be, when it yet lives in my head.
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