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Rated: E · Poetry · Mystery · #2310218
Forrests secrets

This mad magician
Lifted one finger
Ate a frog, burped
Pointed his powers at
Me, Witch of the West

And mesmerized
Cleaning out the cauldron
I bowed my head
Mumbled a few words
Of ancient wisdom
Stumbled in the dark
Parked my broom
Next to his Persian rug

I met my musing match
Right then and there
Resistance was inane
- main drops to the river
- rainbow sky high
- third eyes opening up

Smoking signals into clouds
Allowing fertile rain



LC: 21

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Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2310218-12-13-2023