Del Bear


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The Witch's Workshop (Unfinished)

My footsteps echoed through a hallway of gloom,
A haggered old woman clutched hold of her broom,
A squeal, a yelp, a sound of despair,
rang through the hall, but she did not care,
A chant, a spark, a flash of light,
mice ran beneath floorboards, deep out of sight.
I made for the door, and peered through the crack,
Jars upon jars, piled up in a rack.
Boxes and cages cluttered the floor,
but as I peered, my eyes still craved more,
I pushed at the door, holding my breath,
In that fateful workshop, I met my death.

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