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Persnickety Witch

Oh persnickety wickedly witch

Who tried to stave off dandruff itch

Used a cat to cushion her head

And fell with a grunt out of her bed


Oh persnickety wickedly witch

Of flake and flurry scalp twitch

Sought bats to beat the snow away

But wings clapped her hair to grey


Oh persnickety wickedly witch

Heard the cure from a snitchy-snitch

On her crown she let perch an owl

That pecked her head and made her howl!


Oh persnickety wickedly witch

Who tried to stave off dandruff itch

Inhaled the dust with every breath

And promptly sneezed herself to death.



Were I To Be A Tree

Were I to be a tree, only but a few
pressing concerns would plague my
petiolar mind. Foremost being the present
equilibrium (or lack thereof) between rain
and sunshine at any given moment. Short
of the random yet necessary question of
how cold one’s branches would feel in the
wintertime with no appropriate coverage
of foliage to protect. For the latter,
concern is easily quenched and abated
with the decision that I would be an
evergreen. Assessing and acknowledging
these risks, I adamantly pronounce that I
want to be a big, huge tree.
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