Witch Hunt
There was an old lady, a frumpy old bag
who people called horrid, a witch and a hag
And 'though she was ugly and danced 'mid moonbeams
all was not quite as it might've then seemed
Old-fashioned black clothing made her look quite strange
townies deemed her morbid- “dangerous, deranged”
But she wore these odd rags, so dismal, dark, drear
for fashion mags advised it'd reduce her rear!
Oft they came a-calling, rummaging her rooms
for any hint of witchcraft- talismans or brooms
Although she was crabby, her manner quite brisk
all they ever found was a dustpan and whisk
They said she served odd brews, deathly drinks, all vile
murky, smelly, poisonous- bitter taste like bile...
She poured the nasty stuff, from an earthen jug
but was that vegan creamer in their coffee mugs?
After midnight dancing, bonfire spellbound-
they said she stirred old ghosts from within the ground
Also that she chanted 'incantations' foul...
”tuck yourselves in tight, dears- for she likes to prowl!”
On full moons it was said, she'd be wont to cook
recipes in cauldrons, from an ancient book
But was that pungent smell medicine from herbs?
(for lunar cycles make health tonics superb)
They willfully mistook her 'odes' poetic
called for pitchforks over contrived cosmetics...
All those potent mixtures, odorous “potions”
mere homemade wrinkle creams and beauty lotions
...Couldn't stand her yard-work- never a shovel
wild weeds blooming around her wretched hovel...
Sprayed poisons to protect their 'pure' precious lawns
and told their children she “was the devil's spawn”
'Til one day a crisis showed her intention
for they'd have died without her intervention
Desperate, they drank up, the herbs she'd tended
as she cared for them 'til they were all mended
You might think this illness might've changed their minds-
but no sooner well they showed her their behinds!
They gave her a small shop, place to “sell her wares”
so they could gather, gawk- pierce her with their stares
Instead of gratitude for the kindness shown
they gossiped, griped and sniped, or left her alone
And so she packed, went back to her solitude
while townsfolk declared her, “evil, rotten, rude”
Moral of this story: despite how things seem
there are ways of living, and not all “mainstream”...
By rejecting oddness in your neighborhood
you might just be missing something oddly good!
Copyright © Rhona Mcferran | Year Posted 2019
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment