I found it in the attic,
Behind grandma’s trunk and mirror.
It stood there like a hurricane in the midst of panic,
It hid like a child running from terror.
Yet, I did not run.
Because the fear had imprisoned me.
Like an old fashioned gun
In a vintage case from Bree.
What I saw could have been magic;
However, it looked
Like it was just another tragic
Thread that could not be discovered.
There it stood until the house burnt:
It was a sad thing
That I learnt
That day when my heart was in full swing.
But you see, I cannot tell you what I saw.
After all: magicians’ secrets.