Today’s post is a poem I wrote which may very well have happened in the Mohawk Valley.
The Purple Broom
The witch flew on the purple broom
High above the trees.
She like to loop, she like to zoom,
Wherever she might please.
As she flew, she chanced to meet
A monster with one eye.
He tried to kick her with his feet,
But Witchy flew too high.
And then she met a Frankenstein
Walking through the wood.
Frankie said, “I’m feeling fine,
And hope that you are good.”
The witch flew on, it was such fun.
And soon she met a zombie.
He was quite the well-dressed one
In Fitch and Ambercrombie.
And on she flew into the night.
She saw a werewolf prowling.
The witch said, “Boo!” Try as she might,
She could not get him howling.
A skeleton waved from the street.
His fingers were all bloody.
“Come down!” he said. “I’d like to meet!
And I could be your buddy!”
A wizard with a cauldron black
Was stirring up his potion.
“I need a broom! Come back!” he said.
But Witchy stayed in motion.
Past ghosts and ghouls and everyone,
And as the night drew on,
The purple broom was fast and fun,
And so the witch flew on.
Mohawk Valley Girl 