Gen The Witch Poem by Mill Field

The witch broods
In the middle of her self-centred, self-limiting
Tangled web of lies, half-truths and self-deception;
Ventures forth only to capture and envenom the unwary, the unknowing.

Their minds ingested by the witch,
Her progeny, indulged in baubles, chocolate and late-night television
Are ever by the maternal sac
Imbibing further indoctrination and instruction.

The witch, the witch, the witch.