Departure of a Wizard

I, pilgrim wandering roads

more lost than I ever was.

The hooting of owls

sings me a lullaby,

while sparkling stars

wish me good night.

I’ll tell you what—

a witch’s cat is no match

for my heart;

it is so old and so black.

Yet on a cold October night,

you held my hand,

and my spirit took flight.

There, beneath a nameless oak,

someone will find

a bent staff and a tattered cloak.

by Jason R. Forbus