Through a filthy window
we saw her
she was all decked out in black,
her voice like old brittle leaves
as she grabbed poor little Mack.
You boy, are a fine specimen
you'll be perfect in my witch's brew,
but I need to dehydrate you some
I like when you're hard to chew.
She cackled and looked right at us
we froze and we two held our breath,
if she should discover our presence
it would certainly result in death.
She shoved poor Mack in a chamber
she slammed the large metal door,
you'll stay there exactly one day
and it cannot be one minute more.
I'll show all those other witches
I'm not an oddball I'm just quirky,
but they'll forget about all that
when they taste my delicious boy jerky.
She went to sit by the fire
as witches are prone to do,
it was now time to save our Mack
before he tasted like shoe.
Finally the witch fell asleep
we snuck quietly into her room,
one of us opened the chamber
the other one grabbed her tall broom.
Poor Mack once three dimensions
now he was almost just one,
but his eyes they moved around a bit
so we knew he wasn't quite done.
Now most of you think it is water
that will melt a witch to her core,
the broom it holds the true secret
not found in any folklore.
So I held it deep in the flames
the witch she began to scream,
I shoved the bristles in further
and she simply turned into steam.
We grabbed poor Mack between us
and we soaked him in a big pot,
slowly he began to plump up
and was looking a bit less distraught.
Finally his legs were more fattened
and we sprinted back to our dwellings,
none of us ever ventured out again
and no stories would we be telling.