Can we pull a rabbit out of the hat?
Where is Tink when we need her magic?
Forever young, forever healthy fairy dust.
Sadly, we see the tied-together scarves
stuffed up the pretender’s sleeve.
Musical chairs it’s not.
The chairs are disappearing too fast.
Written for Quadrille Monday at dverse, the virtual pub for poets where today the prompt word is “magic.” Quadrille: a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.