In violet robes the specter stood
with wart on nose and toothless grin
her cauldron brewing root of carob tree
slivered almonds with a touch of lemon.
She swayed to the chanting in her mind
writhed to the rhythm of the fire
its pungent aroma she could not hack
a wanting desire boiling within
until -‘poof’- she burst at the seems
melted down to a puddle of mud-
no longer could she disturb
the innocent child’s sleep.
Prompt inspiration: Shawna at Rosemary Mint provides us with ten words on Monday.
This week's words-