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.