behind the brush
Of an artist's dream
Are ripe pumpkins
A pointed black hat
witch carries cauldron
To create a brew,
While her young sister
Flies off a mission to do
collect dead vermin
for a vile smelling stew
The old witch lives on a
A long winding road
Keeps newts for eyes
A cage for her toad
R.I.P. black crosses
Where victims stay
An old wishing well,
To draw water from
To make evil potions
She cackles all day
"Bubble bubble bring
toil and trouble"
Inside stirs her stew
Cuts fresh bat wings
Long lizard tongues
without an emotion
Measures some drops
of lethal snake venom
Into the potion
Adds creepy crawlies
As topping for stew
I don't want to visit
How about you?