6 August 2012
There was a old witch, Who lived deep within the woods. Despairing over her cauldrons contents, And the fact that it was good... She poured it in the garden, (they didn't have drains then). and once the witch had died. The garden grew again.
The fairy lights were real. Little fairies that did glow. There was enchanted toadstools, And a youth spring that flowed. Found in that youthful spring, Mermaids sang their songs, Flirting with the gnomes, And brushing their breads for long. Those gnomes they caught imps, That stole the spider webs. But not as fast as the butterflies, Returning to the water ebb. There there was the pond skaters, They put on quite a show, Distracting the dragonflies, So the fairies caught them low. But lower than those dragonflies, And even lower still. Lives the mole that is the hermit, Its entrance hidden within the dill.
Who'd have ever thought, That a unhappy witch could start this all. Not me, not you, not anyone. Not her, not fate, not a fool.
©Odd
Old Witches Garden • Opuss № I