grabbing at the bragging ways

whoever said she has got great gift
of the gab gave her a good back stab

you grab her words with your might
when moon looks askance at night

she burrow herself in deep shadows
hiding herself from her eternal foes

all the while she spits fire from her lips
her cursing words are yours for keeps

afterwards she so wishes to be a good witch
mending your torns parts with tiny stitches

she tries to keep her feet from dragging
Believe her when she says she is not bragging

shrugging her shoulders she will go on
tearing you apart, she will gnaw on your bone

by now you must know, hers is not a gift
of the gab. she is nothing but an old hag

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I began it as a fun poem. Somehow it ended this way...