William Smith | + Follow Poet |
Rhyme | + Fav Poem | Comment | Email | Print |

Three Witches, a Love Story

THREE WITCHES A LOVE SONNET


Three ancient, rotten, horrid, witches 
just awoke from their daytime snore,
These evil, reeking, damaged, sisters,
Cursed the land for thirty-five score.

As they hobbled down stairs 
they stammered and coughed,
Till they reached the edge of their crock. 
Twas a potion they brewed
for their youth to renew, but
needed life to finish the stock.

Through a door left ajar,
Came a kitten quite small,
It purred staring at the old bat.
“come here my sweet
and I’ll give you a treat,”
Said the hag to the innocent cat.

The witch struck out her hand
caught the cat in her grasp.
Climbed the stool to the cauldron and then,
The young cat growled and bit,
clawed her hand, scratched her tit
then it lept from the old hags domain.  

As the witch shrieked in pain
she spun round with a scream,
Her old shoes tangled up in her cloth.
In the cauldron she fell, 
With a sound straight from hell
 As she slow became one with the broth. 

Now her sisters did hear 
The commotion and came 
To the aid of their sister in need.
When they looked in the pot, and  
Realized what they’ve got.
They were moved by their personal greed.

So they each grabbed a cup, and 
From the pot they filled up
Their tankards with some of the brew,
“To our sister” they cheered as they fought back a tear,
Then they drank of their dead sisters’ stew.

The pain started slow, from their head to their toe,
Then grew hotter, and harder to bear.
As they each writhed in pain,
Screamed again and again.
And begged mercy from all that could hear.

After while one awoke, 
Slithered out of her cloak
Saw her hand and couldn’t believe,
It was young once again, but
Not as young as it’s been
In her prime, that she couldn’t conceive.

Near the pot lie her sister, 
Still asleep not a whisper,
As she hoisted her up from the floor,
When she lifted her up past the rim of the pot
Then she screamed as she slid neath the gore. 

The witch thoughtfully stirred
Sister stew, undeterred,
Put her cup in the brew to the brim,
She drank all she could till the pain started good,
Then she fell back and writhed in her skin.

When she finally came too, 
and her hand forth she drew
With a glee she could hardly control,
Was her hand soft as silk, wrinkle free, white as milk,
And the locks of her hair black as coal.

Twas her beauty she sought,
From the brew in the pot.
And she glanced round the room past the door.
Where she saw the small cat,
Purring soft staring back,
At this beauty right there on the floor. 

Then she said to the cat,
“Ah my love I am back”.
And with that the cat started to grow. 
And it morphed to a man, young and strong lean and tan.
And said, “love we really must go.”

So, they grabbed some old boots
and some shawls from a box,
And they dressed as they stroll down the lane,
Then the witch turned her head, 
Under breath, something said,
And the old house just burst into flames.

Slipped his hand round her waist,
Cupped her breast, brushed her face
Then he muttered, “I’m starving for meat,”
Never fear, no my dear,
I’ve heard school bells today
There’ll be sweet tender children to eat.

Copyright © William Smith | Year Posted 2016

Please Login to post a comment