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She comes calling in the middle of night

A ghostly figure, the witch of the light

She appears in the state room, there, alone

All that is heard is the sound of her moan

She’s no spirit of comfort, oh no, not she

Only there for herself, a lost memory

Long forgotten, the time passes by

Still she remains, though no one knows why

Perhaps she is looking for one who is true

Perhaps she is looking, for someone like you

Beware if you see her, run if you can

She’s sure to grab you, or any old man

Hear the sound of her broom, swept on the floor?

Now is the time, to run for the door

Haunting the home, she kept long ago

All she has left, is her eerie shadow

One that will hide, in bedknobs, with delight

Patiently waiting, to whet her appetite

 

Writing Prompt – Bedknobs and Broomsticks – Day 30/30

©Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved
Photo via Pixabay CC0