Potion brewing

In a cavern, dark and deep, Where crystals glow and secrets sleep, Lived a Wizard, old and grand, With potions bubbling in his hand.

He stirred his cauldron, round and wide, With dragon scales and starlight dried, A dash of laughter, pixie dust, A pinch of brave, because he must.

"Brewing, brewing, potion bright," He chanted low with all his might. For years he'd searched, with furrowed brow, A spell to banish aging now!

He mixed in moonbeams, silver bright, And whispers carried through the night, A grumbleweed, a phoenix tear, To conquer time and conquer fear.

But as he sipped, with trembling lip, His beard grew longer, with each drip! His wrinkles deepened, lines took hold, He felt a hundred winters old!

He stumbled back, a feeble sigh, "It's aging me! Oh, dear, oh my!" The potion smoked, a vibrant green, The strangest sight he'd ever seen.

Then suddenly, a burst of light, He felt no weakness, only might! The wrinkles faded, beard grew short, His eyes regained a youthful sort!

He hadn't stopped the passing year, But learned to banish all his fear! To live each moment, bold and free, And in his magic, always be!

So in the cave, he brewed anew, Not youth, but joy, for me and you! A potion for a happy heart, To live each day, a brand new start!