The Dance of North Pole

The Earth spins round, with poles aligned,
But magnetic north is hard to find,
It shifts and sways, it doesn’t stay,
A restless wanderer, night and day.

Deep below, the molten flow,
Of iron churns, a fiery glow,
It stirs the field, with unseen might,
And nudges north, just out of sight.

From pole to pole, it drifts each year,
A moving target, never clear.
Secular change, both slow and grand,
Reshapes the compass in your hand.

Beneath the ground, a hidden hoard,
Of iron veins, or magma stored,
Can skew the needle left or right,
A local trick, a puzzling sight.

And far above, the sun may flare,
Its storms can twist the magnetic air,
A brief disturbance, fierce and bright,
That fades again with fading light.

So when you roam, or sail the sea,
True north may not where you will be.
For in this world, both bold and grand,
Magnetic north slips through your hand.