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The Witch's Curse

a #spookyseason poem

By Sara LittlePublished 5 years ago 1 min read
The Witch's Curse
Photo by Stephan H. on Unsplash

When the blood moon shines high

in All Hallows' Eve sky

be ye ware of the witch's hex

her cauldron a-bubble

she stirs up her trouble

the villagers all to perplex

With her familiar beside her

She throws in some spiders

And frog spawn and furry bat wings

she adds leaves of henbane

and then purple vervain

To her potion of dead slimy things

three drops of owl's tears

to incite all the fears

in the minds of the good folk of Ipswich

She adds one final thing more

the sharp tusk of a boar

and the concoction turns black as pitch

then she mutters and chants

in a wild witchy dance

round the flickering infernal flames

and all her spell-casting

leaves her breathless and gasping

and her eyes glittering red and insane

As the townsfolk all sleep

the witch hex doth creep

through the air to surround the poor town

with its shimmery wake

the hex starts to quake

the town vanishing without a sound

no trace it left there

disappeared into thin air

and the townsfolk utterly vexed

standing dumb in their nightshirts

bare feet in the cold dirt

hapless victims of an old witch's hex

vintage

About the Creator

Sara Little

Writer and high school English teacher seeking to empower and inspire young creatives, especially of the LGBTQIA+ community

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    Written by Sara Little