15 May 2012
Once upon a story, In a swamp most grim and gory, There sat a creepy twisted tangled mat; Made of gnarled and mossy branches, Grown with magic, luck and chances, Grew a cottage shaped just like a witches' hat.
And within this creepy house, Along with toad and leech and louse, Lived three Witches who were feared across the land; For their naughtiness I fear, Was to make things disappear, Without anyone the wiser it was planned.
Each night, out they would scuttle, And with spells both old and subtle, They would sit upon a bench of twigs and hair; And with forbidden magic words, And a cake cut into thirds, The bench would take off and propel them through the air.
And as they flew through clouded night, They would keep a lookout sight, For any chance to cause mischievous deeds; Like a man arriving home, Or a girl about to comb, They would set about their magical misleads.
With their devious 'Ear-a-Scope', They would listen out and hope, To hear those words that made their black hearts sing; First a mumble they'd hear uttered, Then a grumble crossly muttered, And at last they'd hear "...where IS that wretched thing??"
Then whatever they were using, The Witches made far more confusing, With an incantation uttered as they passed; Then the item that was sought, Would disappear and they'd have naught, And they'd be left confused, bewildered and aghast.
Cackling up above the deed, Off again the Witches speed, To go and find another victim to annoy; And so the night would pass, Each trick crueller than the last, 'Till they'd weary of their wicked Witchy ploy.
One of the Witches three, Was somewhat different to see, For she did not dress in rags as Witches should; She would dress from head to toes, In brightly coloured woolly clothes, With as many woolly items as she could.
When they flew out on the bench, Her Woolly Witchy heart would wrench, For she took no pleasure in their wicked capers; She found their fooling silly, And instead, when feeling chilly, She would knit more clothes and read the daily papers.
Her sisters tried to find, A way to get her in the mind, To be like them and take delight in their enchantments; But nothing would entice, And no trickery suffice, For her to stop her knitting all those woolly garments.
Then one dark and moonlit night, They were out upon their flight, The Woolly Witch just knitting glumly in her seat; When through the Ear-a-scope, Came a tiny speck of hope, With the words they picked up from a distant street.
They could faintly hear a groan, From a house, sat on its own, Where they heard inside a bedroom through its lock; Within a dresser drawer, A man fumbling as he swore: "...Oh where oh where IS that woolly sock??"
The Woolly Witch sat straight, As she grinned and took the bait, And with a whisper and a clap she cast her spell; And the other Witches grinned, As at last their sister sinned, With such mischief as to make the poor man yell.
And so now at last all three, Of that Witchey family, Could fly out upon the night safe in the knowing; That with trickery and wit, Their Woolly Witch need never knit, To keep her wicked woolly sock collection growing.
The Woolly Witch • Opuss № I