I observed the magician, aged, weathered, and gray,

Slight-hunched toward the crowd on the stage at the park.

But his hands were alive in their magical play,

And his love of the art had a palpable spark.

He dazzled, dumbfounded, delighted the folks.

His show was a top-of-the-line type sensation. 

He made them his friends with his wit and his jokes.

‘Twas no wonder he received such a deafening ovation. 

When the crowd disappeared, I approached him and said, 

You’ve still got it old man but how long can you go?

Do you think that someday you’ll put magic to bed? 

How long do you think you’ll keep doing the show? 

Young man, I’ll do magic as long as I see,

A grown man revert to the child of his past.

As the chains lose their locks, inhibitions they flee, 

He’s wondering, playing, and having a blast.

I will keep doing magic when I see that my work,

Brings the crowd to a freeze at the pregnant pause.

And during the silence, I work up a smirk. 

Then the magic unleashes a sudden applause. 

As long as I cure that old skeptical cynic, 

Who is chronically spying to see how it’s done, 

When I lure him inside of my mystical clinic, 

He is cured and enjoying the magical fun. 

As long as I hear that “What in tarnation?”

The laughter, the screams, the applause pouring down,

The edge of the seat kind of anticipation,  

The “OMG,” “What?,” and the “Get out of town!”

To stop what I crave and have loved all of my life, 
I would miss all the company, joy, and the high.
Here under the sun,
There is nothing more fun.
No, I’m sure I’ll do magic till the day that I die.