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.