An Ode To The Witch Down The Road
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There once was a woman who lived down the end of my street.

She was always so large and yet no one ever saw her eat.

Her hair was bright white, like winters first fallen snow,

Full of frizzy curls that seemed not to know in which way to go.

When the church bells rang on Sunday morning, long and loud,

She would be out on the porch dancing with her cat she called Mrs. Macaroons Macleod.

Smiling seemed something her face did all day every day,

To the point we all thought her a nutter, though we’d of course never say!

Hailing to the wonderfully insane name of Miss Agatha McGee

She would welcome you in every time with a nice spot of tea.


I found myself alone one dark dreary night,

In a right grump...

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