Three hooded witches came riding from the North,
They wore nothing fancy, just a shabby overcoat.
They brought nothing nasty, just spices and a pot.
With shoes black and pointy, they ventured forth…
Mama Mary-Lou puts little Simon to bed,
No time to sit and read, no time to tie her shoe,
No time left for herself, no time to clear her head.
It is well known, after all: that’s all moms do.
Little Simon in his bed
shrinks and shivers,
Sweats in fever,
Moans and jitters:
How simple stories easily scare little men!
Mary-Lou thinks, as she kisses her boy’s forehead.
Soon out through the door mama is gone,
Now sweet Simon is shaking just a little.
He tries closing his eyes, and thinking he’s alone,
No sound of rustling skirts, no shrieks high and brittle.
He tunes his sweet ears to the voice of his mom:
What do the witches do? Where do they come from?
They ride, they don’t fly
They work day and night,
Take care of each other, keep nourished and dry.
Before they depart, they put the journey aside
Make sure each has warm clothes and lots of good wine.
Simon is puzzled; he doesn’t know why,
Suddenly there is no reason to cry.
Last Halloween’s story, that was spine-chilling!
With zombies in suits, in oil platforms drilling!
With vampires creeping underneath every Parliament’s seat,
Sucking all sense – leaving nothing for the people to eat.
With billionaire ghosts shipping boxes at low price,
While all employees are turned into mice.
As the front door softly closes with a clink,
Simon has no reason to worry, no more left to think.
As he closes his eyes, surrenders to sleep,
Mary-Lou puts her hood on: she has a promise to keep.
Slowly, on tip-toe, she exits the door,
An American wife she can be no more.
In another universe, which her people don’t understand,
There is so much more happiness,
If you’re willing to share, trust and give a hand.