"Old Merlin" by Brian Buckley

Old Merlin

“When I was just a tiny lad
My brain was quick and full of wit
At least – I think that’s how it was;
I seem to have forgotten it –
How did I spend my early years?
In perfect truth – I couldn’t say
But then again, I can’t recall
What I was doing yesterday.
My notes are quite a mess, it’s true
And when I try to cast a spell
Or summon up a cosmic sprite
It doesn’t seem to go too well.
I had a certain potted plant
That stubbornly refused to bloom
I said the magic words, and then
I waved my hand beside it – BOOM!
And how I have a green and red
And purple polka-dotted cat
(And just exactly what, I ask
Am I supposed to do with that?)
The kings and dukes, they used to come
And ask me to enchant their blades
Or work some magic to ensure
Successes in their future raids.
That’s over now. King Arthur won’t
Be back again, and that’s for sure
Pink stripes are fine on Guinevere
But not, perhaps, Excalibur!
I must be doing something wrong;
That much, at least, is very clear
But I...what was I saying there?
I’ve really quite forgot, I fear...”
But no one laughs. The silence falls
Like quiet death on empty stone
Where Merlin sits, one hundred three
Within his dusty mind, alone.