Letting Go of the Wrong Broom

The day my broom bopped me on the head Was the day I left it in a ditch in my homestead. Some idiot came by and scooped it up as treasure. I ran out there and threw in a mop for good measure. The mop got dug out too, for the witch was in her cups. She thought she had some buried treasure; her name was Mrs. Hups. I had seen her before; she is a hoarder on the block. The rats run out of her house when she leaves her door unlocked. Where do you think she’ll put it? A neighbor asked me. You know where it could go? I suggested with a bit of glee. The next thing I knew she’d used the broom as a wand. I was ribbet-ing now, sitting in a filthy pond.