She comes by night, In fearsome flight
In garments black as pitch,
The queen of doom Upon her broom
The wild and wicked witch.
A cackling crone with brittle bones
And decicated limbs,
Two evil eyes with warts and sties
And bags about the rims.

A dangling nose, ten twisted toes
And folds of shriveled skin,
Cracked and chipped and crackled lips
That frame a toothless grin.

She hurtles by, she sweeps the sky
And hurls a piercing screech,
As she swoops past, a spell is cast
On all her curses reach.

Take care to hide when the wild witch rides
To shriek her evil spell,
What she may do with a word or two
Is much to grim to tell.