Not Exactly What She Had In Mind
Witchy, with a big fat wart
so horrid not a man would court.
She could have shed it with a spell,
so handsome men would ring her bell.
But Witchy's not the sharpest tool.
In conjuring, she was the fool.
A spell to be craved and adored.
She giggled as her magic poured.
Now she sits upon a log.
Just a big old slimy frog.
Toads adore her big fat wart.
Droves of them hop by to court.
Handsome men, her legs do crave;
fried in a pan or microwaved!
Copyright © Arlene Smith | Year Posted 2017
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