Creative Magic



Isn’t a command

Magic lends no hand



She flicks her wrist

Without a brush is only a wish

She double-checks her circling motion

Curious if it was a mistake she opt-out of concocting a potion


This time tapping her foot


She demands

Nothing but a puff of soot

Taken back, she takes another look


Opening the spellbook her spidey senses are shook


In not so fine print it warns,

Creativity is free. Not to be cast upon thee

Scoff, how has it missed me?

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