‘Don’t go in there mister
There’s witches in there.’
The old dark house set back on the hill
Nestled in our neighbourhood
Its dark walls and darkened doors
Harboured old ladies
Reclusive and alone.
One wondered what they did
In those hours after dark
When silence must have been greater
Than any waking hour.
Did they conjure potions
Perform rites around the kitchen stove?
Did they read their bibles
The gospels and St Paul?
They were the old ladies of my childhood
Behind closed doors they kept the world at bay
Time robbed them of a life any different
I wonder what secrets they took to their graves.