The Sudden Charm of Wren

True magic is not an art requiring
Arcane rites, or a sacrifice of doves.
Just the sudden charm of wren, admiring
Herself in the glass; generous foxglove
Offering her speckled blooms to the bees.
The young buck startling up from the dry creek,
His feet clattering on the stones, the trees’
Deep shade covering his retreat; grosbeak
Who, after all, is only passing through,
Fluting his love song from a walnut limb.
True magic is in joy each day renewed,
And harmony the real enchanter’s hymn. 
Wonder is the ever-renewing spell. 
Those who keep it will always weather well.