for Irving Layton
and all who aspire to be like him
they talk in circles
and speak of old days
when a young man became
the sorcerer's apprentice
his magic spells powerfully seductive
even to those not easily swayed
and the whole world set to casting
some aspiring to fill his shoes
and though rocks sometimes moved
only he awoke volcanoes
now the spells are worn
apprentice old
they talk in circles
and speak of new days
the coming of another apprentice?
some believing it cannot be true
happy with their own small magic
happy to make the boulders move
unaware in the soil around them
molten lava gurgles and pools
a beautiful poem, Chris, which reminds me there is so much magic in ordinary life, if life can ever be ordinary, that it doesn't need additional sorcery to compensate for its seeming lack.
