The Rich Witch Poem by Etienne Charilaou

The rich witch had an itch
to buy a plasmaphonic duosonic
universally lucky Himalayan Bluffanoni.
Now, why buy when you can cast a spell?
It's just that she didn't have the right words to yell.
Her spell book was missing that particular spell.
She had heard from her hairdresser that
there was one to be found in a bazaar in far-off Tashkent.
So, on her broom there she went.

The unpleasant vendor at the market told her
he had sold it to an elf from the Black Forest.
‘Hmm...' thought the witch, ‘it looks like I have to travel further.'
But after the long flight she needed some rest;
and recalled in Baden-Baden there was a nice spa;
luckily from her position not very far.

The witch after lazing in hot baths
and getting many a luxurious massage
quite forgot about the elf
and decided rather to spoil herself.

Being a caffeine fiend
she found a café
and ordered a cappuccino double-creamed!
From toe to pointy hat,
dressed all in black,
she drew many a glance,
and brains would rack:
‘Was it Halloween or
does taste she lack! '

Some would dare
at her face to stare
and had quite the shock!
Warts - chock-a-block!
And those eyes - those
deep, dark…why, they'd mesmerize!

Quite used to such looks
she paid them no heed;
with her long fingernails
she flipped a magazine at speed.

The bill when she was done
came to a remarkable sum;
and if not for her ever-filled purse,
she would have come off the worse.

The sun was quite low
when she entered the inn
where she was sleeping that night;
for you must know
once flying at night
she bashed into a steeple
frightening church-going people.

She quite forgot herself
being beside herself
with anger and pain.
With meteorites from space
she wiped out that place.
But she did wait for the folks to get clear;
it was not in her nature to invoke great fear.

The next day the Black Forest she overflew.
The number of trees! - really, quite a few!
That elf would be hard to find;
she felt she was in a real bind.

But when all seemed futile
in her direction came
trailing smoky blue flame
a roundish missile.

She snapped her broom to the left,
and this manoeuvre deft
saved her from that fireball
which now began to fall
to the trees below
but when it touched them
the fireball stopped its glow.

Aha! A magical fireball!
It's that elf without doubt.
‘Ha! I know where you are;
I'm going to flush you out!

Another ball of fire arced over her head.
She'd better hurry up or she'll soon be dead!
She angled the broom and dived.
Before you knew it she'd arrived.
On the forest floor was the elf
conjuring with a bluffanoni.

Her attack took him by surprise!
He fumbled and lost his prize.
The witch now had the instrument
in her possession to his detriment.

Balancing on her broom
she played a few notes
that spelled his doom -
well, maybe not his end,
but he certainly was in the deep end.

He found himself transported
to the Australian outback;
and no matter whom he exhorted,
they'd never take him back.