10 September 2012
A black smile pulled across her thin pink lips, She danced around the pot, waggling her hips,
Frog toes and petals of a dog rose, Three leaves of mint And of lust, just a hint, A taste of Tabasco, And a roll of tobacco, Dashed in the cauldron with a stir, The petite witch, mid-dance, does murmur, The tiniest spell, She does concur, With a bottled meow of a cat, She jumps in the air and shouts with glee, "That is that!"
Potion Making • Opuss № I