One with no arm,

One with no head,

As the magic maniacs get ready for bed,

Lights are shut off,

In our large suite,

However lonely we are not, we cannot produce any beautiful feats.

The rest of our kind,

Can slay with a thought, or even fly.

Us? Mere parlor tricks,

We try and try but there is no fix.

We are different and special, in our own way,

Just like the prehistoric fae.

Their magic was limited, their thoughts the end.

The humans are threatening and they swear the day away,

Threatening to take their head off and place it on a tray.

A giggle sounds in the dark,

Fear splices my brain, but

Ahh it’s just my dear friend Clark.