In a cabin deep in the woods so green,
Lived a young magician, clumsy, unseen.
His spells would fizz, his potions pop,
But in his heart, he’d never stop!
He packed his hat, his wand, his cloak,
Set off with hope, a magic joke.
To find the book that legends tell—
The Book of Lost Spells, hidden well.
Through the Magic Market, bright and loud,
He bought a map beneath a cloud.
To Whispering Mountain, tall and steep,
Where secrets sleep and dragons keep.
His hat flew off in winds so wild,
But Elian smiled—his spirit mild.
Behind a fall, a cave so bright,
A lake of stars, a glowing light.
He cast a spell—he meant to fly—
But made soft clouds up in the sky!
He hopped and laughed from puff to puff,
“Not perfect magic—but that’s enough!”
A dragon blue with gentle eyes
Gave riddles wise beneath the skies:
“What moves the leaves but can’t be held?
What shines at night but can’t be spelled?
What runs through life but has no feet?
Answer true, and claim your treat!”
He thought, he grinned, he spoke with care—
The dragon nodded, “You’re almost there.”
The book was his! Its pages gleamed,
Not just with spells—but dreams redeemed.
Back in the town, no more a fool,
His magic now both kind and cool.
He helped the lost, he mended tears,
With stardust joy and courage years.
The king proclaimed, “Our Royal Mage!”
Not for perfection—but for brave heart’s stage.
For every trip, each slip, each fall,
Can lead to greatness, after all!
So if you stumble, don’t you fear—
Your misstep’s music, loud and clear!
Like Elian, bold and full of cheer:
Your greatest magic starts right here!