Cauldron wide and hungry,
You will be used today.
My stomach growls; It’s rumbly.
My hair is turning gray.
If I don’t make an antidote
For this sickness, oh so grim
Then as a ghost, away I’ll float.
Yes cauldron, let’s begin.
First we’ll add some pepper,
then three strong legs of toad.
The teardrops of a lepper,
And dust from a windy road.
We’ll toss in eye of rabbit,
The gizzard of my neighbor,
The vegetables of an abbot,
And the figurative fruits of labor.
I toss in something to slicken
The consistency of this great brew.
Then I toss in an extra-large chicken,
And I gaze joyfully at this stew.
Finally, some soap that smells fruity,
And a rhino’s pustulous poop!
My antidote’s the epitome of beauty:
A witch’s homemade chicken soup.