Witches Stew

A cauldron sit on an open fire,
Overflowing with a bubbling brew,
Under a bright orange October moon,
Three witches were cooking graveyard stew.

Into the kettle the first witch threw,
The wings of thirteen tarantula hawks,
The kneecaps of the goblins' king,
And flower clusters from a purple phlox.

Into the pot the second witch blew,
The essence of an unfriendly ghost,
Hairs from a presidential candidate,
And three slices of burnt rye toast.

The third witch added all purpose glue,
Stirred the pot with a huge wooden spoon,
Then tossed in the tongues of howling wargs,
Followed by a hundred-year-old prune.

Line Count: 16
Form: quatrain