A crow flew through my window
and alighted on my shelf.
He said, “I’ve had a dreadful night,
I hardly feel myself.
Could I bother you for a cup of wine
to nurse me back to health?”

When first the crow began to speak
his words did me astound
but then I remembered the many such wonders
that oft did my father surround,
for my father was a sorcerer
and his name had been renowned.

I’m a sorcerer’s son with the world at my fingertips—
the imagined is real in my hands.
At my subtlest gesture all nature responds to me—
the air will obey my commands.

“When I left home some hours ago,”
the crow his tale resumed,
“I was a man, and not a bird
as you might have presumed.
A wizard cast a spell o’er me
and this form I assumed.

“From that dark enchanter’s castle,
through the bitter cold night air,
I made my way to your fine home
seeking succor there—
for I know of a way to undo this curse
with a lock of your father’s hair.”

The thought of disturbing my father’s rest
filled my heart with dread!
For though he lies in our family crypt,
a sorcerer is never truly dead…

When I opened up the casket
and saw my father there,
I greeted him with deference,
explaining the need for his hair.
He reached for me and grasped my arm
and spoke the word, “Beware!”

When my guest was once again a man,
freed from feathers cruel,
he revealed ‘twas the grand-master mage
who transformed him in a duel,
with only the twitch of a fingertip.
Then I knew I’d been a fool.

I’m a sorcerer’s son but I’d put it behind me—
from the world I’d become a recluse.
He devoted his life to the magician’s brotherhood,
working to stem dark magic’s abuse.

I’m a sorcerer’s son and my fortune’s caught up to me—
I can no longer dismiss its call.
The darkness unceasingly pecks at humanity—
stripping the souls from us all.

- He's the son, he must rise, to push back against the darkness. -

- The sun must rise! -