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Witches Stew A Most Evil Brew
In the green grass glen by the lake,
Where there'd been plenty of wakes.
Where all the kinfolk gathered crying
For all the children who went dying.
Three witches stirred their cauldron,
Thinking of all the fat tasty children
They could put into the stew to simmer,
On this longest day of midsummer.
But not one swam in the nearby bay.
No children ended up cooked that day,
Two starving witches stirred their brew,
By day's end, the pot was full of stew.
The townsfolk kept their children home,
Refusing to let them go outside to roam.
Now the last hungry hagged old witch
Ended up starving to death in a ditch.