Could I give up the magic I have earned,
The power over spirits I have fought
To gain? To see the spells I love be spurned
By me and never given any thought?
Perhaps I cannot do it, since I waste
These talents, rarely casting these true spells
To animate the spirits. I can't taste
The potions bottled in the cowrie shells.
Yet even though I often fail to live
Up to what I know I can do, my spirit
Is willing, though my time is weak. I give
In spells that come so rare I almost fear it.
I'm not a sudden flash in iron bowls --
I'm slowly burning magic cauldron coals.