In twilight’s hush, where shadows play,
An old witch lives, down hills away,
Her cackling laughter echoes through the night,
As she mounts her broom, a wondrous sight.
With slow deliberation, she takes to the air,
Like a snail’s gentle pace, without a care,
But then, with sudden speed, she’s gone from sight,
Fast as a cheetah, in the moon’s pale light.
Her broomstick whispers secrets, as she flies with glee,
To places hidden, where few can see,
The wind in her hair, a wild, witch’s delight,
As she dances on air, through the silver night.
With wicked joy, she rides the moon’s pale beam,
A sorceress of darkness, a witch’s wild dream,
Free from earthly bounds, she soars with gleeful shout,
An old witch living, without a doubt.
