Magpie Tales
Misty Old Witch
In early November I went out to camp.
As I entered a old town in the hills
Rain had made everything damp.
Stopped for fuel as a old man gripped tight
Of my arm with true fright
In his eyes as he spoke
Of some witch that hid in light.
He said she lived up in old foothills.
I smiled for I was up for thrills.
Leaving town I headed where he pointed.
Though I could feel those chills
Running up the back of my spine.
Outside of my tent watching the fire shine.
Grinning over what that old man said.
Oh Witch! Come out have some wine!
I shout towards the forest full of fog.
Rolling the last dry log
Into the fire I heard a noise.
The air around me condensing like smog.
Struggling to breathe I pass out.
My body aches as I come about.
Seeing the morning twilight
Blended with the fog throughout.
I notice I'm sitting in a chair.
I ask myself where, where?
Where was I with all these chairs?
But I couldn't believe who was there.
That witch, staring at me with those eyes.
Shaking my head, is this my demise?
A slight smile curled upon those lips.
"You weren't you advised,
To not enter my home, my hill?"
I began to laugh till
The whole forest joined me.
I wish this witch nothing but goodwill
as I asked her if she still wanted wine?
