The Witch and Her Cat
Cuddled in slumber,
With dreams in brave number,
In bedsheets and pillows so thick.
The witch’s cat Harry,
Did languidly tarry,
Caressing his paws with a lick.
Prodigiously tired,
Her vigour expired,
The witch had put spells on the town,
And now she was sleeping,
Her solitude keeping,
In bedclothes and dreamy duck down.
Their fellowship merry,
The dream like a ferry,
To lands sitting far beyond time,
Her person transported,
To faery escorted,
And lost in a fantasy rhyme.
His claws were in motion,
In perfect devotion,
He kneaded his love with a purr,
And even the purring,
Did not see her stirring,
Her consciousness lost in a blur.
Then wonderful morning,
An apricot dawning,
Appeared in the east in the sky,
Afflicted by yawning,
With black Harry fawning,
The witch again opened her eye.
I think I’ll say curses,
And various verses,
To render the pastor a toad,
A funny amphibian!
Less than a simian!
Hark as my mantras are crowed!
Harry was silent,
Her attitude violent,
As gripping her wand with a cry,
She uttered the phrasing,
In timbre amazing,
Like lightning bolts thrown from the sky.
Then haughtily racing,
The horses outpacing,
The witch put her cat on the broom,
And over the birch,
To the protestant church,
The dynamic couple did zoom.
They spied the results,
Of their midnight assaults,
For the pastor was now as a frog,
Croaking his sorrow,
From morn until morrow,
From out of the odious bog.
ADL
adamdaniel 