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By Ruth Calder Murphy (Arciemme)

 “Don’t be silly,” said her father,

“Elves and imps are just pretend.

Faeries don’t exist, and neither

Does the Grinch – you’re round the bend.”

Milly sighed, a bit frustrated,

Climbed the stairs and went to bed.

Wasn’t in the slightest daunted

By the things her father said.

Under blankets, by the torchlight,

Her ideas began to form.

She had got to get the words right,

Then she could be gone by dawn -

Gone away, with elves and faeries

Whom she’d met a hundred times

Flying in and out of day dreams,

Story books and nursery rhymes.

“If I say the words,” she thought, “then

by the mirror’s where to be,

so that I and my reflection

Can swap places, it and me.”

To the looking glass she tiptoed,

Making sure she made no sound.

Mirrors are where magic happen,

Where the strangest things are found.

With her mouth against the mirror,

Whispered words steamed up the glass,

But it didn’t seem to matter –

She was still allowed to pass.

Milly, through the misty mirror,

Made her way to Faerie land.

In the bedroom, left behind her,

Her reflection waved its hand.

Just a single wave, and then it

Went to bed and fell asleep.

Underneath the rumpled blanket,

Slumbered softly, dreaming deep.

In the morning, over breakfast,

Milly wasn’t even missed.

Neither was Reflection noticed,

It was just as they had wished.

Milly got her elves and faeries,

Magic castle, magic pool,

And Reflection got her wishes –

No more magic, lots of school.

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