Bony hands and bony fingers,
The chill she has, it always lingers.

In her hut where she dwells,
With her potions she makes a spell.

When someone enters her hut,
With her spell she makes the door slam shut.

Then out she comes in grey tattered robes,
With just a hint of green light on her nose.

Out she comes with a staggering walk,
For years she’s had no one to talk.

Some say she’s mad, and crazy even,
For she uses her spell to change the season.

She’s become old and blind with age,
If she catches you, you’ll next be found in a cage.

So be very careful when you wander out on the hills,
For she’s waiting for you, disguised as a tree right near the wind mill.