Enchanted Poetry

I feel, in the morning dew, an air of magic.

So strange, the sweet smell
it carries.

I am clothed in the shroud of life.

In another world, and not at all
perceptive to this one.

Soon morning will pass, and all the

Magic that I possess will pass
with the wind.

Until then, I continue in a state of

Unaware awareness,
Under the spell.