My mother was a witch, she’d say,
catching me at breakfast play
with her behind eyes.
Which witch? would I reply:
red shoes or none,
Dorothy’s Done
and run
with the sun.
It rained the night she died.
’twas well earth cried.
My mother was a witch, she’d say,
catching me at breakfast play
with her behind eyes.
Which witch? would I reply:
red shoes or none,
Dorothy’s Done
and run
with the sun.
It rained the night she died.
’twas well earth cried.