My great grandfather Juda walking
Across a moor. To him, three witches;
The youngest one is seven but, bolder
Than her companions, she pokes him
With her right thumb saying "Hey!
It is not often such as you meet
With such as we and in daylight, too,
When our powers flicker. Come;
Would you know your fortune?"
He might have said yes and
Have lived afterwards a life
Meant for someone a bit taller
And less shrewd but the oldest witch
Who looked to be fourteen or so
Shook her head slightly and he declined
But shared with them the four coins
Burning a hole in his pocket.
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