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 are meet
With such as we and in daylight, too,
When our powers flicker. Come;
Would you know your fortune?"
He might say yes and
Afterwards go off with a life
Meant for someone a bit taller
And less shrewd but the oldest witch
Who looks to be fourteen or so
Shakes her head slightly and he declines
But shares with them the four coins
Burning a hole in his pocket.
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