f curses were purses
All full to the brim
And wishes were fishes
From gill to the fin
If our cats were like hats
Pulled down over our ears
And if dogs were all hogs
From their fronts to their rears
And if witches were bitches
A hexing away
Our life would be strife
And no more a g’day

So when britches get itches
And start to throw curses
Let sense turn to pence
And lets weigh down our purses.
When a crone starts to groan
It is not a good sign
And the next with a hex
WILL be warlocked in time!

©1999 by Trish Reynolds