After a long spell, last ditch for witch

I’m a wicked old witch called Hazel And this year will be my last Halloween. My powers have sadly diminished, So I’m retiring from the whole witchy scene.

My old besom broom has woodworm And, as for myself, the years haven’t been kind. I’ve arthritis in my hips, knees and fingers, And to cast a spell is becoming a bind.

I gaze into my crystal ball through my cataracts And there, foggy images come into view. Can I see a tall, dark, handsome stranger? To be honest, I haven’t a clue.

In my heyday I wove powerful magic, Using ingredients exotic and rare. But now I don’t scour the woods for hens’ teeth, I search the shelves at Tesco to see what is there.

My dentures fall out when I cackle, My black cat has developed the mange. My buttoned-up boots play havoc with my bunions, And I realise that my life will have to change.

So I’m off to the Rusted Cauldron rest home After this last little fling. Tonight, this old hag will go out flying, For I know what tomorrow will bring.

And while folks on the ground are locked down, I’ll be mounting my broom to take to the sky. Look up and you might see my silhouetted shadow, Passing in front of the Moon and waving goodbye.

Mrs Anita Bass, Theydon Bois, Essex.