Magic

My eyes went blind with tears

Of not pain

Of not loss

Neither joy

Nor fear

But by the memory of those years

Clinging to the tip of my father's robe,

Wandering around farms,

Upon yellow hills,

Through sea and heavy mist.

On and On.

Singing our own song...

When a secret sip of his mead,

Or to kill a game by his blade,

Were the innocent dreams i relished to aim.

Tonight,

When sorrow becomes my shadow,

And grief makes it hard to swallow.

A walk down the line,

Of a life left so far behind,

Feels like heavenly dew,

flowing down the desert of my throat.

Such is the MAGIC,

My childhood has bestowed.