There is a magic carpet

that wafts us round the world.

With classic form, flowers gay

and glorious colours swirled.

Of texture soft or rugged,

of silk or finest wool;

so skillful in it’s weaving,

that snags will never pull.

It has a thousand borders

where patterns play their roll;

with a multitude of tiny knots

important to the whole.

 

An artifact of priceless worth,

for all of us to own.

We ride this magic carpet,

as if it were a throne.

We may not ever master it

or use it very well,

while it helps us to communicate,

where sounds of Babel swell.

Now and then, with harshness,

or softness nearly sung;

this magic carpet carries us

on the words of every tongue.

 
 

David Garlick, Puerto Vallarta, February, 1999