Poetry

An old witch grows a servant from a potato

Wash it roughly, no grit needed,

sprinkle the powder over, cover it all,

boil up the water, fill the room with steam

stand back while the sprouts start to spring.

 

Hands first, arms, then shoulders,

torso covered with dark eyes,

legs sturdy but knobbly knees

and the head – ah, where is it?

 

Splash here, splash there

shower it all over

finally out it pops: warm, mashy grin.

See it walk, not roll or hobble.

Good! Set it to work. Clean the cauldron,

let the chores begin!