Witches with the lace-edged gloves!
Witches with twisted backs and furrowed skin, Scattered in trios across the wilderness of the Scottish countryside,With thick, gristly beards and evil, crackling grins, Summoning powerful, translucent spirits to do their bidding
I've seen witches with lace-edged gloves and lice-infested wigs,
With frayed tempers and hideously grotesque skin,
Their saliva a nice, periwinkle blue.
Notorious for turning children into mice,
Luring silly kindergarteners with creamy, delicious slabs of chocolate,
These are the kind you'd do well to avoid.
Although a valiant boy-turned mouse and his spunky granny from Norway,
Have nearly driven this particular species into extinction.
Witches with skin the colour of nascent snow-
Their lips luscious, red and sly;
Diabolic, scheming and wily,
They have no use for spells or potions.
Ensnaring you with their bewitching songs,
In a language neither of us could fathom -
With words that are sometimes like the rustle of restless leaves
And then roar over the forest,
Like a deep, angry, clap of thunder.
I've seen witches soaring across the frigid mountains of the north,
Lightly skimming across undernourished trees with their billowing cloaks,
Their broomsticks swift, light and sure.
Seldom have they deigned to converse with anything remotely human,
Instead preferring to glide into the twinkling abyss of the sky.
Their skin unblemished by the swiftly passing waves of time,
They live for an eternity and a day, delving into the unchronicled enigmas of the night.
Witches with twisted backs and furrowed skin,
Scattered in trios across the wilderness of the Scottish countryside,
With thick, gristly beards and evil, crackling grins,
Summoning powerful, translucent spirits to do their bidding
Prophesying fame, misery, greatness and ruin,
Pay no heed to what they say,
Their speech is hypocritical, like a double- edged sword,
With two diverse meanings enmeshed in a word.
I've know witches of the more civilized kind;
They have their own government, as inefficient as ours.
Using wands of holly, oak and sometimes even the hair of a unicorn,
To unleash spells that can transfigure a pin-cushion into a porcupine,
But which require precision, timing and training,
At a school where children of uncanny ability are taught,
Like the girl with the bushy brown hair and the boy with the paper thin scar,
From our world and from theirs.
