She walks; and terrors of the night Bow down and find another road Monsters stall without a fight Ghouls and fairies’s schemes are slowed Her magic of high renown and skill Is honed to draw out others’ art None can bend her iron will Her strength too great, too sharp, too smart Borrowing bats to fly and soar Or owls to hear the secrets hidden She travels with wing or tail or paw The Queen of Bees is often bidden No castle, keep or golden throne No foe could ever be her match A simple cottage made of stone Is home for Granny Weatherwax