'What on earth are you doing?'
My grandmother asked
'And why are you riding a moose?'
'It's make believe grandma,'
I said with a grin,
'Young girls don't always tell the whole truth.'
'But grandma I've noticed,'
I said with a frown,
'That at night you don't sleep in your room.
'The window's left open
The curtains aflutter
And why do you smile at the moon?'
'And why for that matter,'
I asked with knit brows,
'Is your clothing entirely black?'
'And why a black cat?
And why a broomstick?
And why some dead toads in a sack?'
'My dear little girl,'
She said with a smile,
'Make believe is the realm of young'
'But old ladies on broomsticks
Who fly through the night
Know that being a witch is more fun.'
(The image here, though very fine, belongs to someone else. Not mine!)