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If witches would stay off their broomsticks,
not collecting black cats and kids,
not charring the sky with their tricks,
keep to their bottomless pit, deep off the grid…

If their cackles were buried in hell,
their pimples and warts swarmed with heat…
if they couldn’t, not one, recall a spell
and stayed off the world’s beat…

If witches would fall in their own cauldron
with all the eyes, ears, and feet they stole,
their curses ne’er heard again, end their doctrine,
face down in mire and defeat of their souls…

then the light of the sun and the moon
and the stars and candles would burn
with a glow of happiness and swoon -
to a glorious paradise mankind would return.

10/25/2022

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