Hi all,

Today's guest writer is Anne Rhodes.

A lovely little ditty about those pointy hat ladies.....Witches.....

WITCHES KNICKERS

I heard on the radio, the other night,
Of the undies the witches leave behind
As they skim down low from a scary height
On whatever old transport they can find.

Don't ever believe those who swear as true
That broomsticks are all that witches can ride
Because when they're stuck, an old cloud will do
As transport across the dark countryside.

It's when the wind blows through the bare tree twigs
That they lose their knickers for all to see.
They ride far too close, hands holding their wigs,
Then modesty's gone with a one, two, three

What you think you see are thin plastic bags
Twisted and torn caught on those twigs so bare
 But in truth they're the pants, now blown to rags,
Of the witches who forgot to take care.

They rushed on their broomsticks and scraped their knees
Playing chase with their friends from high to low.
They snagged their knickers on those wintry trees
all modesty gone - they've no shame, you know!

You weren't sure that flying witches exist.
There's proof for you with their knickers flapping
 On all the branches in a plastic mist.
Those witches who play and cheer whilst clapping!

© Anne Rhodes 2015

Thanks Anne......great poem.

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