• Small child, little child,
    how your eyes sparkle with every fairy tale told,
    with every magic trick performed,
    your gasps of awe, your squeals of delight,
    you couldn’t possibly realize that
    it’s not at all real; it’s only make-believe.

    I learned that the hard way.

    Small child, little child,
    I was once like you: carefree, naïve,
    unaware of everything except of the things in my
    own Wonder- or Never-land.
    waiting for Santa while groggily rubbing my drooping eyes
    on Christmas Eve,
    pulling out extra teeth in hopes for another visit
    from the Tooth Fairy.

    I’m all grown up now.

    Small child, little child,
    you’re growing an inch every day that passes by.
    Soon, eleven will shoot by you and
    you will still not have received your
    Hogwarts letter by owl post.
    Whether you look in wardrobes or at paintings,
    you won’t find the entrance
    to Narnia – and even if you do,
    you’ll be grown-up by then, and believe it merely
    a dream.

    I don’t believe in magic.

    Small child, little child,
    one day, that magic you see around you will be gone
    before you can say, “Abra Kadabra!”
    and you will finally open your eyes to see
    the world for what it really is:
    logical, sensible, and full of no’s.
    The magic will fade, the spark
    will be forever dimmed.

    I’m not a child any longer.