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.

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