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I was wandering, wandering, no place to go,
Kicking rocks in the dust, moving slow.
Bored as can be, then my day took a twist,
Lying there in the dirt, a stick I couldn’t resist!
"Hush" now, -I’m a witch, so wise, so old,
With my walking stick, I command the cold.
Inspecting my lands with thoughtful eyes,
The path I paint sparkles — a fairytale prize.
I tap the ground, casting spells with flair,
Whispering dreams into the forest air.
Each step I take, my dreams comes alive,
This stick’s my magic, it makes me thrive.
It’s my stick, it’s a sword, it’s a wand, it’s a key,
The coolest thing ever, yeah, it’s just for me!
Swing it, tap it, imagine the scene,
A stick in your hand makes you a king or queen!
A young woman stands in a sunlit meadow, adorned in a flowing, elegant gown. She holds a wooden staff and wears a delicate crown, exuding a regal, mystical aura amid soft smoke.