I am the witch who can't be seen,
And I was born on Halloween!
My own familiar with me sits;
His eyes are golden - merely slits.
I gaze into my crystal ball,
And see the snowflakes as they fall,
Upon the planet dark and grey,
For Summer solstice now I pray.
And when the tarot cards I spy,
I grasp them with a gleeful cry.
Perhaps the future will be told,
When pictures I at last behold.
So do not mock me, for I say,
'You may regret it one fine day,
When spells are cast and witches fly,
Upon their broomsticks in the sky!!'