Witch’s Brew

Witch’s Brew
I made a wish

Upon a casserole dish,

For my cauldron was at the menders;

The handle was broken

And it just wouldn’t work

It just stood there on the ground;

It made me feel like a berk;

And I couldn’t borrow Brenda’s

(As it was wash day).
So, I resorted to Pyrex

Which is okay for a small hex

But, no darn good for the big spells.

I filled it with stuff

Toe of newt, bark of gruff-a-lo

(And the like)

And looked for a match I could strike.

I had two bits of wood

Which were really no good-

Where’s Hagseed

When you’ve a match-lighting need?

Oh, I remember, not here, I forgot to invite her

So, I sent BlackCat over to Madge

To see if I could cadge

The borrow of a match or a lighter.

She sent back reply

Which I heard with a sigh:
“Your face: my marsh!”
Which, I think, was quite harsh;

Though I’m not the prettiest crone;

Warts and all 

And no meat on my bone.
What a disaster

With no heat to control

I cannot spells master

And where, at four in the morning,

Can one get ‘sight of a mole’?
I shall have to give up:

‘Cry of baby’,

‘Whine of pup’

Are just no good when they’re cold;

I’ll try again next week

After matches I seek

(And find)

Otherwise…

I’ll go out of my mind!”
“Too late!” cried Madge.