A wizard's staff has a knob on the end
It never will buckle, it never will bend
He cherishes it, and he calls it his friend,
and he frequently takes it in hand.
A wizard's staff is the source of his power.
He checks up on it every hour on the hour
And he's never surprised when it turns to a flower --
The fairest throughout all the land.
The staff of a wizard with honour is crowned.
Without it a wizard will rarely be found.
'Tis big and it's round and weighs three to the pound
And without it he's truly unmanned.
The staff of a wizard can do mighty deeds.
It protects him from harm and attends to his needs,
Provides him with banquets upon which he feeds
And potions on which he gets canned.
Whenever a wizard is lonely or sad,
Or feeling dejected, or puzzled, or mad,
He turns to his staff, and things don't seem so bad --
By it he is never trepanned.
The staff of a wizard is dear to his heart
The source and the succour of his magic art.
They travel together, are never apart,
A relationship few understand.
The wizard is rarely of heroic build
Were it not for his staff, he would surely be killed.
By demons or monsters his blood would be spilled
All over the pitiless sand.
A wizard in thought, word, and deed should be chaste
If he is not, he's considered disgraced
Although in his dreams he is often embraced
By ladies both lissom and tanned.
The staff of a wizard is polished with care.
He anoints it with spices and unguents rare,
Bedecks it with silver and jewels most fair,
And on feast days he has it japanned.
A wizard when young has a staff that is small.
It's puny and weak, ineffective withal.
It grows with his power until it stands tall
As his fame and his glory expand.
The staff of a wizard can hold many spells
For finding lost objects or dowsing new wells
For banishing demons to bottomless hells
Or bringing them back on demand.
A wizard's staff can do manifold tricks
To puzzle the nobles and fuddle the hicks
It rescues the wizard from many a fix --
It is totally at his command.
When a wizard is old, and is starting to fade
He looks on his staff that with cunning he made
The crown of hs life and the tool of his trade
And together they make their last stand.
 Mandy Thorne · Sat Jan 05, 2008 @ 02:36am · 0 Comments |
