Long into Twilight, round suppertime,
Matilda came waltzing. Sho looked fine!
Sashayed her skirts, adjusted her hat,
Grabbed her broom and grabbed her silky cat.
Matilda was a nun That was that.
Swept the vestry. And her cat wasn't black.
Course, women with cats, were all witches!
Priest looked stern...but, laughter in stitches!
Flock was pure, altar boys all bad.
Matilda finished chores. The wait was sad.
The clock struck midnight, one, two, then three...
That one night of the year, Halloween...
Cat turned black, and broom in the jet stream!
Now, if it's thought this blasphemy...
Really, pure care...
I'll repent by cooking up a
Cauldron 'recipe'...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem