THE WIZARD
Peter Jenkyns

With pointed hat and nails like claws
And a terrible smile on his face
The wizard sits behind locked doors
In his cell in a mountain place.
Around the walls of his magic den
Laid out in endless line
Are books of spells for him to cast
And bottles of magic wine.

With horny hands he waves his wand
And scatters upon the fire
A powder which burns with ghostly light
As the flames rise even higher.
His lips recite a magic spell,
The flames dance on the walls
And shadows deepen on his face
As on his knees he falls.

As I turn the page of the picture book
The scenes change endlessly
Kings and queens and palaces
And galleons on the sea
But whenever I look at the picture book
I linger at the place
Where the wizard sits behind locked doors
In his cell in a mountain place

With books of spells for him to cast
And bottles of magic wine
And all the time his wicked eyes
Are gazing into mine!!

That is the words I had sang that in my school choir so I would know!