In the middle of mother nature’s valley
Surrounded by trees
There stands a vintage cottage
Only it’s smoke is seen over pine peeks

White with red bricks marking its sides
Lovely brown roof round as a mushroom
And near is a witch’s garden
Where all around the year her flowers bloom

She visits her garden daily
Waters the lilies, roses and lavenders
In her petite meditation space she finds serenity
Undisturbed by wanderers

She looks after her house too
Dances while sweeping with a broom
Gives widows a shower daily
And finds doing dishes pretty cool

Then collects a jar of fresh air
And stores it deep in the shelves
Amongst crystals and elixirs
Carefully, because one had already fell

She wipes her cauldron dutifully
Scrubs until she sees her own face
Smiling with the work she’s done
Witch finally plumps down on sofa with grace

She sells potions too!
But it can be hard for more than a few
To find her little hut
Because everyone’s lips about it are tightly shut