Saturday, July 14, 2012
The Witch
The Witch
by Jack Prelutsky
She comes by night, in fearsome flight,
In garments black as pitch,
The queen of doom upon her broom,
The wild and wicked witch,
A cackling crone with brittle bones
And desiccated limbs,
Two evil eyes with warts and sties
And bags about the rims,
A dangling nose, ten twisted toes
And folds of shriveled skin,
Cracked and chipped and crackled lips
That frame a toothless grin.
She hurtles by, she sweeps the sky
And hurls a piercing screech.
As she swoops past, a spell is cast
On all her curses reach.
Take care to hide when the wild witch
rides
To shriek her evil spell.
What she may do with a word or two
Is much too grim to tell.
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