Perched up high, upon a branch
In the forest, dark and scary
The owl waits for his next prey
Though his mistress, quite contrary

She sits inside, in black of night
By the window, where she eyes
Children, in their costumes
And much to her surprise

One comes closer, just enough
So the door, she opens wide
Watches as he makes his way
Unsuspecting, now inside

The cauldron boils and bubbles
As the witch begins to chortle
“Trick or treat, my tasty one
It’s time for my nightly mortal”

 

©2017 Amended 2021 Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved
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