The Dark Witch Poem by Dave Chessher

This ugly old woman, Haggard and worn
The fumes from her potion keeping her warm
This small frail witch stirring her pot
The foulness, the stench, the smell of rot
This witches spell book, made from the devils flesh
The stains of fluid and her victims breath
This was the time to say her spell
The harrowing sound coming from hell
Pulling her fingernails across each page
Reading the spells with such rage
Then all of a sudden the candles dim
The breath of the devil rushes in
Just be careful what you do
You never know
She might put a spell on you