I hate all those nasty black arts,
I don't like to be cruel to people
And stick pins in their delicate parts,
I don't like to wear fusty clothes
Or paint my fingernails black,
I can't slit the throat of a dear little lamb,
Cackling? I don't have the knack.
…….
But if I could find a sheltered grove
Under the Hunter's Moon
Somewhere dry and out of the wind,
A bit like a cosy room,
Then I could fling off all my clothes
If it were warm enough,
And I could flaunt my lilywhite limbs
Completely in the buff.
…….
December 2006
Mary Argent copyright