The Wizard of Oz

The Wizard of Oz

Out from the bright Kansas plain she left
with a suitcase of whispers and a silver fleck,
Dorothy, who dreamed of a colourful quest,
trod the road that turned her blue to reds.

A four‑winged whirlwind, a feathered sky,
the ruby road flickering with hope and sigh.
Munchkins clattered like tiny petals in a flurry,
their laughter cracked the night’s thin burly.

Scarecrow’s straw heart beat slow and true,
Tin Man stooped, his heart a rusted hue.
The Lion, brave, but fearful of his roar,
attracted a thunderous roar of distant lore.

They followed the lane to the Emerald City’s glow,
a place of crowns and mystic trysting row.
There the Wizard in great velvet guise did wait,
a puff of smoke, a silver’s ornate crate.

“Show me your heart, your mind, your power” he claimed,
while his top hat rustled light like tamed rain.
The heroes found that the potion was within,
they hailed triumph—so close to the win.

The pumpkin turned to a carriage on the lowest floor,
amid shards of the lorry of tin at the core.
Once the skies were key locked by a cobalt door,
the land glowed where magic made it roar.

In the end the Cat answered the green fable’s truth,
that “home” is a thought, a mischievous booth,
and the Wizard left a fire in the glimmering booth.

It’s simple: the boldest hearts are own within fate—
band‑checked by love through the Yellow Brick’s great gate.