Hecaty Witch

Image from Pixabay

She sewed a stitch that raggedy bitch,
A snicky stitch from a wickedy witch,
With fingers ridged from hours of toil,
So hard such work, so sad to spoil.

A twist, a turn, a needle stab,
The spell it grew and grew,
’Til all at once the scissors snipped,
And the thread and knots held true.

She smiled a smile that wickedy witch,
That boiled the brothers blood.
Who left their sister there, alone
And fled, their yellow blood!
That curdled,
As they ran and ran,
To chase the sight away,
Of sister left as marionette,
For a wicked witch to play.

© Cathie Bagley

There’s witches, and there’s bad, bad witches. The Hecaty Witch in this poem is a bad, bad witch who makes dolls out of little girls.