Ever since I was a child,
I have held near and dear
Fairy tales and whispers of More
Not often faithful belief but joy,
Wonder, lessons of morality mental pearls
That I might string, lively, worrybeads,
Which turn, fixed, Princess Periezade's grief,
No healing waters for transformed princes,
For the Magic has gone out.

It is no wonder that Pandora
In that box containing all plagues
Held too Hope, broken-winged, fragile, dull
Worst of all evils, to Nietzsche,
I understand him much better now,
It does truly prolong the torment,
The taunting cruelty that some tomorrow
May be better, but not tonight  
For the Magic has gone out.