"Bewitched" poem

More about "Bewitched" poem

Bewitched
(A Poem)

In robes as black as starless skies,
With twinkling mischief in her eyes,
A pointed hat upon her head,
And broomstick always close to bed —

Young Maribelle, the witch so sweet,
Wore boots that tapped a cheery beat.
She wasn’t fierce, she wasn’t grim,
Her spells were soft, her magic — whim.

One morning with a yawning hum,
She stirred her tea with sugar and sun.
“I’ll cast a charm,” she softly said,
“To keep my cheeks from turning red.”

But something fizzled, something flew —
A sneeze! A spark! The curtains blew!
Her broomstick danced, her cat turned blue,
The teacup sang a lullaby too.

The townsfolk laughed, “She’s done it now —
She’s cast a charm, but not sure how!”
And though her face turned ten shades pink,
She offered treats and gave a wink.

For every spell, though not quite right,
Still filled the world with joy and light.
So if you meet her, don’t resist —
You just might leave a little kissed…

By stardust, giggles, moonlight twitched —
By Maribelle — the girl bewitched.