Deep inside our souls,
we find our childhood joys,
smells of memories in the meadows,
and the swells of summer,
wishing wells of wonder.
Again we touch the grass in sunlight,
and in the warmth of summer moonlit nights,
remember wandering young
near the holy midnight,
in magic-making star-taking
childmild moon-nights,
where we flew quiet with desire.
We listen to music,
sunlit and moonbeamed,
and see the song sound
new light in our feelings.
The muse is magic.
The mage is music.
Life calls when this magic muses,
makes madness mild and mildness wild,
true to music's magic uses.
...continue...
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