Dark skies
witch flies
to her home
on a broom
warts on her face
gloves made of lace
black cat on the table
beside the pot ladle
mixing a potion
devoid of emotion
standing chuckling
like an ugly duckling
thinking up a spell
to raise hell
for an innocent person
she mixes while cursin’
with a witch’s curse
you’ll end up in a hearse
Can be seen at poets corner
