The Wizard

You do not wear a pointy hat
And no cloak doth shroud your frame
Your feet do not squeeze into pointy shoes
No stick to pretend you're lame

No cauldron to stir and boil
No magic looking glass
No crystal thing to call upon
The only spheres between your legs

You will not fly on broomstick
No magic carpet for you to ride
You are not a magician
Nor an illusionist that hides

No staff of power to strike on stone
No fairy wand to wave and wield
Your power is your heart and soul
And you tell of how you feel

No house sucked into a tornado
That will crash down on unknown lands
But still you have a spell to weave
With the pen that's in your hand

No sweet and sickly house to eat
No thorns grown around your keep
You are not Witch, fairy or ogre,
And you have a friend in me

There is no golden fleece for you
No golden egg laying big bird
But you have a little magic

!You are wizard of words!

Just a little tribute to Mr Pickard