A witch was caught and quickly cut in bits.
The pieces then were burned till they were black.
The townsfolk set the pieces far apart,
praying to on high it'd not come back.
Soon, two hands crawled along and nothing else.
They crept inside the orchard-keeper's farms.
They blasted down the doors of his barn-house.
And then found for themselves it's bony arms.
Then two arms crept along and nothing else,
and knocked upon the vicar's chapel door,
they rolled back his carpet and found two feet,
hidden under boards beneath the floor.
Arms and feet slithered, and nothing else.
They thumped upon the blacksmith's downtown shop,
and underneath the forge, they found two legs,
and from then on, the almost-witch did hop.
Four limbs hopped along, and nothing else.
They hopped up to the downtown baker's shop.
Behind the sacks of flour they came to find
the blackened torso with no head on top.
A body, arms and legs and nothing else,
always seeking out their final piece.
Always on the roads, the witch will creep,
understand that it shall never cease.
So check beneath your floor, and in your roof,
check the cupboards and under the bed,
for if it comes a-knocking on your door,
you do not want to be caught with it's head.
YOU ARE READING
Never told Nursery Rhymes
PoetryAre these the sort of things you like, my dear? the stories and the rhymes that make you shake? are you the sort who seeks darkness and fear? I surely hope you are, for your own sake. In here you'll meet the fear who has a face, in here you'll feel...
