Eye of newt and wing of bat,
a little bit of this and that,
some cake, a clock with broke alarm,
the insect crawling on my arm,
into the caldron o'er the fire
boil and bubble, flames rush higher.
No it's not some witches brew
and Halloween's not passing through.
We're camping in the wilderness
and it's my turn to make dinner.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A great poem. The ending certainly wasn't what I was expecting. Thank you.