Poems (Piatt)/Volume 1/About a Magician

by Sarah Piatt

ABOUT A MAGICIAN.

Oh, there is a magician that I know,
 As strange as Hermann is———"But he can wring
A white bird's neck off in the market, though,
 Then—put it on and tell the bird to sing
           And fly like anything!

"What can he do?" Just wait and see him pass,
 And you shall see, I think, what you shall see.
The pretty baby, creeping in the grass,
 Will be a naughty boy, and climb a tree,
           If he goes by—ah, me!

Why, men and women in his path will rise—
 Yes, of the dust, or nothing, they are made.
We see them in the sun with real eyes,
 And, while we look at them, he makes them fade
           To ghosts———You are afraid?

Then, he can pass the guards in any light,
 And take the palace and the king away.
He has not gone to sleep a single night,
 For many million years—some people say,—
           Nor rested for a day!

We cannot kill him—though we sometimes try;
 He kills us all———yes, and the soldiers, too!
Seas are not deep enough to drown him. I
 Have heard that fire is—what he passes through
           Look, he is changing you!

Why, in a little while you will not be
 Yourself. And then———What will he change you to,
Poor, yellow-headed child, here at my knee
 Waiting to hear a foolish story through?
           Ah, Fred, what if we knew!