Post by Athena on Oct 21, 2014 5:47:44 GMT -6
By day it's a very good girl am I;
I sit by the fire and sew,
I darn the stockings and sweet the floors
And hang the pots in a row.
But, oh by night when the candle's out
And my bedroom black as pitch,
I've just to crackle my thumbs to turn
Into a wild bad witch.
Nights of storm and night of stars
Are all the same to me ----
It's up on my broom and straddle the wind
As it whips my pigtails free.
Over the chimney pots to go,
Past the jumbled lights of towns,
With the hosts of good black trees beyond,
And dim sheep - sprinkled downs.
No one knows when morning comes
And I'm back in bed once more,
With tangled hair and eyes a-blink
From the sunshine on the floor ---
No one knows of that witch who rode
In the windy dark and wild ---
And I let them praise my sober ways,
And call me a quiet child!
Copyright ©2007 Jess Carter
I sit by the fire and sew,
I darn the stockings and sweet the floors
And hang the pots in a row.
But, oh by night when the candle's out
And my bedroom black as pitch,
I've just to crackle my thumbs to turn
Into a wild bad witch.
Nights of storm and night of stars
Are all the same to me ----
It's up on my broom and straddle the wind
As it whips my pigtails free.
Over the chimney pots to go,
Past the jumbled lights of towns,
With the hosts of good black trees beyond,
And dim sheep - sprinkled downs.
No one knows when morning comes
And I'm back in bed once more,
With tangled hair and eyes a-blink
From the sunshine on the floor ---
No one knows of that witch who rode
In the windy dark and wild ---
And I let them praise my sober ways,
And call me a quiet child!
Copyright ©2007 Jess Carter
