I Never Went to Her Funeral

There’s a witch in the house,
in the corner of the room.
She doesn’t wear a pointy hat,
nor does she ride upon a broom.

I’ve never seen her cast a spell,
But, ‘oh boy’, can she stare!
And once she grabbed me by the leg
and tossed me in the air.

She visits every Sunday
with a big bag of sweets.
She hands them to my brother,
who gobbles up his treats.

I’m scared to look straight at her,
Cos then she’ll know I’m there.
She says that I’m a sly one,
that I’m a hard-faced mare.

I must’ve made her angry,
but I don’t know what I did.
I don’t know how to change my face,
I’m just a little kid.

She dotes upon my brother,
Saying, “Oh my son, my son”.
He calls her grandma,
I can’t breathe until she’s gone.