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Rated: E · Poetry · Children's · #2076494
A children's poem about a neighborhood witch
LoTions aNd pOtions

Down my street is a mysterious dark house
with four black cats and a deranged white mouse.
On the house is a crooked sign hung with a crooked nail
“cOme iN foR LoTions aNd pOtIons” now for sale!

Mrs. Deeds has lived here for quite a while,
with her fiery red hair and her toothless smile.
She has been known to come out without a stitch,
and she believes she is a real hocus pocus witch!

Short and round she has taps on her pointy boots
clickety, clackety, click, clack, click as she scoots.
Drinking English tea with her pinky finger pointed out,
she cackles and dances in a two-step fancy round-about.

Sarah, James and I love to visit the witch, Mrs. Deeds,
who loves our company and always takes care of our needs.
I love to try her many varieties of homemade lotions,
while James and Sarah, unafraid, bravely taste her potions.

In the kitchen she stirs her kettle of her famous witches brew,
then holds out the ladle saying,” I made this especially for you”.
Gingerly, we taste her brew, then lick our lips and ask for more,
she cackled in delight and then, like a gymnast, leapt off the floor.

We sat at her table with black cats and a deranged mouse,
while she hung from the high ceiling in her witch’s house.
She poured her brew into her most beautiful porcelain cups,
which we delightedly drink with our pinkies pointed up.

With delightfully full tummies we ask her to fly us on her broom,
to see all the wonders below that we could not see in this room.
Her toothless grin reveals she would love to take us for a ride,
on her largest broom that has room for four sitting side-by-side.

She refuses to go out until she applies her regulation witches’ attire,
of a black tattered dress, hat and cape which we all greatly admire.
In full attire she clicks and clacks and regally sails out the front door
and trips causing her to face-plant, which we, unsuccessfully, try to ignore.

She beckons us to climb onto her largest witches’ broom,
wearing aviator glasses and scarves we take off with a sonic boom.
The neighborhood is used to her booms and none are alarmed,
knowing Mrs. Deeds will deliver us home, whole and unharmed.

She flew us in loop-de-loops before dropping into a nose-dive,
as we screamed with laughter while hoping we would not die.
After performing more aerodynamic, death-defying skills,
she then gently landed, happy that none of us became ill.

With each passing year our visits to Mrs. Deeds became less,
because we were beginning to have to deal with adult stress.
But Mrs. Deeds knows that she will always hold our childhood love,
and, today, if we keep a keen eye on the sky, we can spot her above.

© Copyright 2016 Mari McKee (marim at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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