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 crackling crone with brittle bones
and
dessicated limbs,
two
evil eyes with warts and sties
and
bags about the rims,
a dangling nose, ten twisted toes
and
fold 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.