A potion for love, or your midday stew,
Now then old Witch, What do you brew.
Are the ingredients, costly and rare,
What ! just an onion, with meat of a hare.
Not something mysterious from an ancient book,
Only the noon day meal that you cook.
Weird chants and murmurs to make one fear,
Or do you talk to yourself, is that what I hear.
What creature is that sitting in your chair,
Impatiently waiting your meal to share.
Foul fiend, conjured up from out of hells fire,
Or a friendly black cat, with hungry desire.
Toad-stools, poison ivy, mistle from the wood,
Making herbal remedies for mankind's good.
That broom in the corner is it to sweep,
Or a means to fly, Witches covens to keep.
Are you a lonely old woman without any friends,
Just animals and birds that sweet nature sends.
You know that fear, greed and hate do require,
Another innocent victim to feed to the fire.
And you with your healing powers will do,
For your loneliness is known but to just a few.