Grace Magic

Once a woman who lived out in east Arkansas,
had a want for odd like gnawing opossum paw.
Now good Grace--she thought that she could amaze.
She would wield a wand till the crack of dawn;
Grace believed in magical ways.

Brownies-Sylphs-Medusa-Unicorns-Lorelei;
Grace fancied such beings--thought she’d give it a try.
So Ms Grace imagined mystical days.
She conjured a spell, (real as she could tell);
Grace believed in magical ways.

Past her paltry cabin in Gnome's Woods near a creek,
Grace addressed the sycamores expecting tree-speak.
But then Grace became a little let down.
She rapped the trunk--her stately ego shrunk;
Grace displayed a bit of a frown.

Grace returned to cabin with her stomach in knots,
lots of quaint enchanting hovered high in her thoughts.
And so Grace realized what she had to do.
She made a doll with taro root and shawl;
Grace would try her hand at voodoo.

Morsels of hog jowls and fat back fell from her lips;
Grace ran out of stick pins so she used her Q-Tips.
Thus good Grace practiced from right on the couch.
She pierced fervently (once she jabbed her knee);
Magic was no match for the ouch.

Then a rugged camper showed up holding his side;
Magic opened her one door, the camper wide-eyed.
“Can you help me please? I’m in pain,” he rightly said;
Grace turned, put away the doll, her countenance red.
And so Grace learned that it just doesn’t pay.
Voodoo pained the man (good old Camper Dan);
Grace put thoughts of magic away.


32 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
12-7-14
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Rhythm: (12-12-10-10-8)
Last Stanza: (12-12-12-12-10-10-8)