a
very old wizard
in the northernmost
polar region a castle of warmth and enchantments is nestled. in it resides a wizard known to some, but
not all. his name is a limerick, a
memory, a spell and is summoned by a thousand tongues.
he lives not alone, for
a women it's told, she bakes for the wizard while his magic unfolds. this witch of a woman has many spells of her
own and summons his love with puddings and gingerbread. their children all clad quite the same,
pointed ears and a language unknown.
these magical folk,
labor in unparalleled time, so the ordinary can grasp something real. the young and the old, it is said of those
who believe will rise from their beds, and a gift from him lay await one day of
each year. a day where grief and horror
is pushed back by cheer.
the old wizard is
steadfast despite his old age, and a flash of the red of his cloak goes
unnoticed as greed filled dreams cloud minds of the receivers when it comes to
his good deeds.
but guilt will go
unrequited, for he returns each year, it is the price he must pay for
immortality. if kindness is something you wish to give in
return, a simple gesture, nothing absurd, a beverage of something pleasing to
most, a thank you baked in a cake and frosted with pleasantries. whether imagined or welcomed, hitched to
reindeer or traveling by flue, this wizened wizard of sorts has something for
you.
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