The cauldron gurgled the witch's brew
beside the pit an empty shoe;
she watched the broth congeal and bubble
ran her palm against chins stubble.

The bats swooped down that they might sup
bloods harvest in communal cup;
the forest dark did close its eyes
but couldn't block the piercing cries.

The scent of stranger on spit turning
enticed the coven's hunger yearning;
they gathered up their knives and forks
and swarmed to feast upon the corpse.