Why Are We Hiding In This Ditch
Over my house lingered a broom-riding witch.
She laughed so hard, the roof gave a pitch.
Someone told grandma about it; for they loved to snitch.
We all ran outside and threw ourselves into a ditch.
What are we doing here? Asked my aunt who was rich.
I thought you knew, I said to my short cousin Mitch.
I had no idea either, so we stared at the witch.
She gave us the evil eye, scaring us back into the ditch.
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