The witch in my cherry tree
is no ordinary witch.
She blows bubbles across my garden,
only in spring time, but that guarantees
the rabbit wont turn into an alien
or the canaries learn to croak.
My inner child delights in bubbles;
she's turned into a witch-spotter,
but without success. Disguised
as a cherry blossom or
a string on the Aeolian harp,
the witch waits and whenever the wind blows,
chimes and releases a cluster of bubbles.
I will never look upon a cherry tree in bloom in the same way again! The thought of a witch blowing bubbles and ensuring that rabbits and canaries remain rabbits and canaries appeals to me in this world where words appear on a computer screen when I type, instead of on a piece of paper.
ReplyDeleteLovely poem, lovely sentiment, Diana