The Witch and Her Cat
Awaking from slumber,
From dreams in brave number,
In bedsheets and pillows so thick.
The witch’s cat Harry,
Didst languidly tarry,
Caressing his paws with a lick.
Although she was weary,
All angsty and teary,
The witch had put spells on the town,
And now she was sleeping,
Her solitude keeping,
In linen and comforting down.
Their fellowship merry,
The dreams 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!
Poor Harry was silent,
The witch getting violent,
And gripping her wand with a cry,
She uttered the phrasing,
In timbres amazing,
Like lightning bolts thrown from the sky.
Then haughtily racing,
The horses outpacing,
The witch put her cat on the broom,
Traversing the fences,
With overwrought senses,
The dynamic couple didst 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 