Vengeance
The vampire bats go out on strike,
Cats show dislike,
Refusing to ride through the gloom
On a straw broom.
They’d rather not always be stark
Beasts in the dark,
They tire of the witch-work at times,
And its night-crimes.
Myrcalla wrings withered old hands,
Magic wand stands
Next to a stew-pot of toads—
Caldron explodes.
Explodes—and the room is a soup,
Cats`n bats regroup,
Attacking Myrcalla by turns:
Witch woman… learns.
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