Stones I sell, I sell stones
Each with magical powers
A crystal, a geode you may expect
But none of those are ours
Granite here and sandstone too
Unpolished quartz, we have a few
All closely held, all closely worn
Sometimes we see a little scorn
It cannot be a magic stone
When it is found and isn’t grown
They look for jewels, trinkets all
And that is where their logic falls
This quartz was lucky to a man
Who now owns a company in Japan
This granite chunk was precious to
A president, I’ll say not who
Each of them holds within
A power to make witches grin
A power they had and they retain
A power to make all new again
What do we call this magic, then?
It’s called BELIEF, and there all ends.

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