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