The full moon hangs high

In this cold clear sky

Illuminating the earth below

With its magical silvery glow

Three witches dressed in black

With a cackle as their soundtrack

Soaring through the sky

Faster and faster they did fly

On their enchanted broomsticks

Each one carrying a bag of tricks

The oldest witch, a wizened crone

With white hair the colour of moonstone

Her beady eyes gleaming in the moonlight

As she swoops and dives leaving all in fright

Casting spells on the earth below

Watching as her magic did flow

The second witch from middle age stock

With a wild mane of red flowing lock

Her cackle echoed through the night air

Quite a formidable pair

As she balanced a large cauldron

Stirring in all the contents until the job was done

The youngest witch a young woman with black hair

Had pale freckled skin whose cackle she did share

She grinned mischievously

Her eyes glittered solitiously

Flying through the night sky

Casting potions in the wink of her eye

As the dawn broke over the horizon

The witches realised they didn’t mean to frighten

So they pooled their magic together

Unleashing something powerful and clever

A spell that transformed them into a flock of ravens

With a loud caw they took to the heavens

Leaving a trail of swirling smoke

Calling to the mind to evoke

Keep your doors tightly shut and lock

The witches will be back just listen for the knock.