Magic

Magic

Magic is the spell she weaves with her eyes, a smile
And a touch at day's end.

The children breathe their wonders out of their dreams
Into my grownup soul as I watch them there, just lying asleep
As the trees sigh secrets old as earth
In the language of leaves swaying in the soft summer wind
Outside, beneath the endless sky all full of distant diamonds,
Worlds beyond number dancing a great wheel dance
Slow and majestic with them,
Falling forever through the velvet blackness.

Magic is thunder and sunlight and water,
The thousand thousand songs born of the spirit of life
The tapestry woven and yet weaving itself
Across all this most marvelous small world;
It is the fact of our being, and the unspoken thoughts
That transcend all speech, to make one whole 
Of the multitudes moving across it.

This is Magic - not hat tricks, nor conjurations
But the incantations of heartbeats and parents' prayers
And the birth of hopes by candlelight and moonglow -
The wish for all to be well; the belief that it will.

Magic, like home, is a feeling,
A respect for the Oneness beneath all things,
A wanting to remember this with appreciation,
A hope to do well and wish well for all,
Through all our numbered days.

Settle this in your heart,
And you and I and all the world
Are Magic.