[Stumped]

With Hallowe'en approaching, I thought it might be a good videa to resurrect a poem I wrote in 2000.

The Coven

Squatting round the cauldron
With their shoulders bent and spare,
The Coven dispense mayhem with their magic;
A dozen black rat's tails,
Five and twenty salted snails,
And a maidens tears to bode the potion tragic.

Stirring in succession
With adulterated glee,
The Coven lavish homage on their potion;
A pint of cuckoo spit,
Umpteen drops of dew to whit,
And a clump of seaweed dredged up from the ocean.

Chanting arcane babble
With their features grim and set,
The Coven look to implement sedition,
A splash of adder's blood,
A sprig of rotted wood,
And a curse or two to ripen their rendition.

Weaving spells at random
Minus recourse to sound thought,
The Coven inadvertently sow folly,
A cup of aphid's milk,
An arms length of spider's silk,
And a spot of mischief posed as melancholy.

Feeding in the punch-line
Without charity or grace,
The Coven look to reap what they have sown;
A flash of lightning fire,
Heralds consequences dire,
And The Coven face the wrath of the unknown.

Reeling back in terror
With no standing or defence,
The Coven flounder in eternity anon;
A potent contribution,
Dispenses retribution,
And The Coven, with their cauldron, become one!

End