CURS’ED ARE THEY ALL

Witches haunt this dreadful land
And loudly bring to all our lives,
Great terror by both night and day
What they do just can't be right.

Like hunters swooping from the skies
They bring with them a searing fright,
Such evil crones befoul this land
Upon this Godless, awful night.

With golden hair and features fair
Witches bring doom ‘pon a man,
Screeching, cackling, shrilling loud
Their image flashing ‘cross this land.

Screeching just like banshees do
They shrill and shriek half-fit to burst,
And at their mercy a lone man dares
To challenge them to, “Do your worst!”

But no-one stands up for the man
As witches besmirch aloud his name,
To bring doom to the ground he treads
Delighting in their evil game.

No mercy for this man is found
No hero stands up for his cause,
As beauteous witches shrill aloud
Until they screech with voices hoarse.

Residing now in foreign lands
They challenge him to, “Come on back!”
So they can torture, shrill, and shriek
Remorseless in their foul attack.

At Easter southern witches shrill
Louder by far than at Hallowe’en,
Shrieking, shrilling, spewing vitriol
More relentless than we’ve ever seen.

No-one can withstand their foul assault
Or dare to take them on alone,
Yet still, they challenge the poor man
To, “Come back now; come on home!”

O what damage will their shrilling do
A curse upon their blasphemy,
And so I loudly cry to them
“Let your chosen victim be!”

THE END
© Copyright 2023 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia