III

Myth-Country

The wicked witch of Northcote
Has flowers and trees to hide her gate—
Small, climbing roses
And the mad geranium.

She only knows one human tongue,
And used it till a while ago
In speaking to an aged man
Who lived across the road.

Now he's dead and there's no-one worthy.
She lives with her dog Woofy and the cats,
Geraniums growing wild,
Nasturtiums in the field,

Willows are poking up out of the gutters,
The chimney black and tall and crooked,
The paint fallen from the roof,
The glass from all the windows:

I wouldn't walk up that crooked path
With roses hanging from the trees
For all the wild and sweet geraniums
Ever witches grew!