O sweet magical planet,
so different from all others we know of,
our temporary abode,
spinning singularly in the vastness
of this sea of burning galaxies.
Is any other
as dear or as rare as thee?
Who could imagine anything
more intricate, more miraculous, more wonderous
than the stream of life that flows continuously
from your sparkling jeweled womb?
your gift to be cherished and adored,
naught but a spell, a trick,
a flicker in the mirror of the night,
a web spun of light
for those who would be caught
with the temerity,
to believe they could own or rule such beauty,
or even destroy it for their own gain,
that it is only an illusion,
a mask veiling that which is
far more precious,
more powerful, more impervious,
more dangerous, more lovely
than anything that can be grasped.
The soul of the magician,
the eternal soul of all.