The Blue Witch

I’m dedicating this one to my girlfriend, because I know how much she likes witches.

THE BLUE WITCH

Alastair Skerman

 

In the darkest tree of the darkest wood,

In the darkest root, there you should

Find a home of rocks, mud and stone,

And under the fireplace piles of bone.

Do not be fearful or weak of heart,

For I’m about to tell you the interesting part.

That place of skulls and hanging limbs,

Was once the home of a thousand sins,

Where a girl of age would wage her potions,

(And sometimes even cleansing skin lotions)

In order to cause as much distress,

As one person can without much mess.

Her name was spoken for miles around,

‘The Blue Witch’ was a common sound.

 

She turned people to beasts,

And angered the chiefs.

She resurrected demons,

And ruined the sermons.

She denied them the rain,

And caused them much pain.

She killed of the children,

And cooked them in cauldrons.

She demonized pets,

And pissed off the vets.

She arranged tornadoes,

And made people grow toes.

She laughed in their faces,

Where they sobbed in their places.

 

‘One thousand pounds!’ the Mayor decried,

‘For the head of this venomous demon inside

The darkest tree of the darkest wood.

Kill her ourselves, we honestly could,

But we’d rather you did it instead of ourselves,

For you’ve got fancy armour and plenty of spells.’

Scores of warriors came from miles around,

And against that dark tree they swords did pound.

One by one they marched to her den,

And one by one they weren’t seen again.

It seemed that the people were doomed for all time,

Until one night as they gobbled their wine,

A figure arose from the gathering mist

And without a word he gave them the gist

By holding an axe over his muscular shoulders

(The kind of which would shatter boulders).

 

‘My name is Sir Lawrence and I will rid you,

Of this beast in you woods, and so I bid you

Farewell, and you had better have the money

Or suddenly I won’t be so flowers and honey.’

The Mayor agreed with a fluttering wave,

And arranged for an extra oversized grave.

With proud, handsome steps the warrior marched

Towards the witch, and his axe did arch

And land against the darkest tree,

Shattering wood from her to Paris.

As the dust settled, he peered inside,

When out of the gloom and to his right side,

A little young girl dressed in a blue dress,

Spoke to him in a manner of distress:

‘Oh please brave knight, be careful down there – ’

But he chopped her in half without disturbing a hair.

‘Foul witch! How dare you try to trick me!

I am no fool! With a knife you would stick me!

If I hadn’t stopped you I would surely be dead,

So stop looking so horrified with your little head!’

He turned around to walk back in glory,

(Covered in blood and looking quite gory)

When in front of him there stood the Blue Witch

And all he said was: ‘Son of a bitch.’

 

That night the people got quite a surprise,

When out of the mist and in front of their eyes,

The Blue Witch appeared and dumped off the bodies,

Saying to the masses: ‘A few apologies,

But what that bastard did, well it was just mean.

At least I give them time to stumble and scream.

I quit from the business, you’ll be glad to know.’

And so jumped on her broom with a ‘Silver, hi ho!’

 

A lesson to all, before you start to complain:

Just because they are handsome, doesn’t mean they’ve got brains.

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