Dangling crystals

From the roof

Cauldrons, pointy hats

Strewn aloof

A dainty feline

The colour of soot

Paws across

With an annoyed look

Smell of sage

Rising from a nook

A pair of eyes

Over a dusty old book

Old, precise hands

Cutting herbs to cook

My face pales as I ponder

what she's to cook

I run back home

Sweaty and shook

I tell my tales

To anyone that looks

Yet no one believes

And gives me strange looks

When I say that I think

A witch lives by the brook

~Adventures and woes of a child~