The Wizard Of Wyckstaff Poem by Richard D Remler

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Today the clouds are looming gray.
The Shadows all refuse to play.
The stars, they weep, and turn away.
So sure they've nothing left to say.
Sorrow blossoms as a rose
Still wearing its December clothes.
Like a firefly who's lost its flame,
I doubt we'll ever be the same.

Mildred Magles is gone for good.
The stars, they called her home.
I think, perhaps, they spied that she
Was very, very much alone.
So they whispered out her name,
And drew her far away.
Unexpectedly, it was...
Such a sad, sad day.

And Philbin O'Philman
Our friend from the sea...
Who came with the rain,
And the wind in the quay...
A man gentle, and quiet
As September's new moon,
Left us a lifetime
Of Summer's too soon.

And today, just today,
Along Wyckstaff Bay,
The clouds hang so dismal,
So lonely and gray.
The Willow is weeping,
The sparrow, she sighs.
The roses look dimly
Up into the skies.
Since Willoughby Tuck,
Drew out his secret sachet
And gave all of his magic
Do-Dads away.

"They tell me magic is a bore.
They don't need Wizards anymore.
Our twilight's Shadow told me so.
And twilight's Shadow's always know,
So it is time for me to go."

To Agnes Spick he gave his Blue Nidge,
A very magic dotty thing
That widdles and piddles just a smidge.
But shimmers like a diamond ring.
It iddled in her tiny hand,
And sort of blushed,
Like Nidge's do.
And Agnes sort of smiled then,
As her Nidge went
"aah, ahh-choo! "

The apple core he gave to Pip,
Who accepted it with smiles grand,
Who really did not understand
The magic there at his command.

To Pip it looked like nothing more
Than a brown and blooney apple core.
A snip of Jekyll's blonny hyde,
Just itchen to be tossed aside.
But he smiled warmly just today,
And safely tucked the thing away...

He gave his handkerchief
To Betty Joe,
Who blushed as red as a new rose,
And whispered in embarrassment
That she did not need to blow
Her nose.

Doctor Dimmel got the floom,
A magic sort of dusting broom
That could not, would not look away
Whenever dust came out to play.

To Phob he gave his Lincoln Rings,
And two and twenty whiffle strings...
That promptly climbed into his hair,
And gave young Phob a funny scare.

To Buck he gave his BottleBox,
The one that bore his Y and K.
A fair bit used and crickly,
As if it had met its day.
But Buck, oh, he was not so calm,
And tossed the thing into the breeze...
But you cannot toss a BottleBox
Like this
Away with ease.
It flew right back and bonked his head,
And Buck is kind of sore.
Still he has no clue exactly what
A BottleBox is for.

He gave to Anne
His Magic Sand,
And sadly breathed a sigh,
Smiled as the wilting heat
Of August moseyed by.

To John he gave
His Walking Staff,
And John, he did not mind.
I think I even heard him laugh,
But it was all in kind.
The Staff was not so certain
The selection had been wise,
But bowed to its new master
With a twinkle of its eyes.

And now, Tumnus Point,
At the heart of our town
Is as sad as any tear.
The clouds of blue and green
And gray
Linger very near.
Our town is melancholy,
Such a sad and gloomy day,
Since Willoughby Tuck,
Our Wizard, esteemed,
Went along his way.





Copyright © MMXIV Richard D. Remler


**A Children's Tale**