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The Witch

by Barry Louis Polisar

A woman lived alone, not far from a town,
In a run-down old house that was falling to the ground.
The children in the neighborhood would taunt her and laugh;
They'd tease her all the time; said she never took a bath.

They said her house was haunted, they'd scream and yell and jeer.
They'd throw things in her yard, they'd point at her and sneer.
They said she was a witch and they made fun of her clothes.
They'd laugh at the warts that were growing on her nose.

After years of being taunted, she could finally take no more;
She offered each an apple that was poisoned to the core.
She grabbed them by the hair, while their poisoned bellies ached,
Then threw them in her oven and cooked them into cakes.

She'd put them in her kettle, she baked some into pies;
She'd puree them, souflle them, muffling their cries.
Now there's a lesson or two that I think can be had,
'bout what makes some good and makes others bad;

If you shut people out or push them away,
Don't be surprised to find one day
That all your friends are gone and you're in a stew;
And those that you've shut out are devouring you.

Copyright by Barry Louis Polisar

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