Legend of the Witch       

            Deep in the swamps of old Florida,
            In a moss covered haven so old,
            With gators and snakes that move through the lakes,
            A witch makes her home, I've been told.

            An eye of a newt and the leg of a frog,
            A few mushrooms, poison I'm sure,
            She conjures and beckons in the dense swampy fog,
            Spells in her old ways she lures.

            A cackle high pitched that echoes the fright,
            As the frogs and crickets compete.
            The eerie, bizarre and strange sounds of night,
            In a chorus so chilly completes.
 
            When the moon rises high in the black summer sky,
            And the stars begin to appear,
            Listen intently to the swamp, by and by,
            And I'm sure you'll be able to hear.

            The gators and crickets and even the snakes,
            As they slither through mud and they crawl,
            That state their mandate and make no mistake,
            That to enter their realm would be all.

            For deep in those swamps a legend is told,
            Of the witch who lives by the lakes,
            Who strangers she molds into creatures of old,
            Like gators and crickets and snakes.