but he is not a witch

Pearlescent skeleton with bones of white
was stirring the brew on this Halloween night
His wrist was steady, his spoon was sure
Best brew of all I bet, said a witch, Demure

But he’s not a witch, I argued with her
Don’t be a bigot, she told me, his heart is pure
All you have to do to make the perfect brew
Is to want to do what this skeleton can do.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2026

Poem

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