Witch's Brew

Half a pound of pickled prunes
Forty thousand grasses ...
No, hang on. That can't be right.
I think I need my glasses.

Three spoons of compost, four of soot,
Blend in a spot of ink
Now try it out upon your foot
And see just what you think.

At last - the perfect shoe polish
For the witch with poorer sight.
It drips and smells and leaves a trail 
To lead you home at night.

Butterfly

Flitter, flutter, flower to flower
Paintbox on the wing
You don't know that you are our
Harbinger of spring.

The Art of the Impossible

Beneath a blue moon
When the winter roses bloom
Time slows to never.