Magic is real it’s inside of me.
I close my eyes and it’s what i see.
Books float to me when I want them and open before me.
Magic is a escape from a place I don’t want to be.
I see doors swing ajar as I walk towards them or slam close when I’m angry as if it was wind.
Is it my imagination that take me to this wonderland destination?
Or is that I come from a long line of seekers and seers?
My grandma once told me If I believe it could be true.
Magic keeps me happy instead of being blue.
Oh yes indeed magic is serene to me
And when I need a little clue I see the magic when I look at you.