A Spooky Brew

In the shadowed heart of October’s chill, Beneath the moon’s bewitching, eerie light, A cauldron bubbles, mystic and still, As witches weave their spells into the night.

A potion, dark as midnight’s secret dreams, They conjure with a whispered incantation, With eyes aglow like otherworldly gleams, In their mysterious, arcane meditation.

Into the cauldron, they cast their charms, A sprig of wolfsbane, a raven’s feather, Brewing magic with outstretched arms, To change the course of fate and weather.

Gathered herbs from haunted woods they throw, Mandrake root and leaves of hemlock green, With each ingredient, their power grows, Creating a potion, like nothing ever seen.

The steam that rises, thick and gray, Carries the essence of their ancient craft, On this spooky and enchanted October night, The witches’ brew, their spells are bound to last.

They stir with twigs from an old oak tree, As the winds around them begin to howl, The potion swirls with a sinister glee, A brew that holds both curse and prowl.

As the clock strikes midnight, the work is done, The cauldron’s fire flickers and dies, The witches’ potion, a victory won, With magic glowing in their eyes.

Beware this brew, on this night of fright, For it holds the power of shadows deep, In the hands of witches on this October night, Their secrets and enchantments, they shall keep.