Mystic it was in my childhood

Still it is so in adulthood

A maze – help me out if you would.

I believe in your magic wand.

I know you’re from the fairyland.

I trust you and your helping hand.

Godmother of Cinderella

You are truer than Shangri-La

Yet, at times, far like nebula.

Amid the sobs and streams of tears,

At nadir of all hope of hers,

The spark of light that lit was yours.

The weary lass, her ragged dress

The mice, the pumpkin and the horse

You transformed all within a trice.

The downtrodden reached the mansion

To dance in a royal fashion

Leaving the vile in confusion.

Oh! Loud struck then the midnight clock

The dame dashed with a slipper’s track

That is where I’m lost and nerves rack!

The carriage turned to the pumpkin

The coachman became the horse thin,

The horses into mice even!

Why still the shoes were under spell?!

Was it ‘cause you were forgetful?

If so, keep being forgetful.

Leave some signs of your spell to save

The living helpless who should have

Redeeming trace of your wand’s wave.