The Old Witch

The old witch decreed

   one fine morn:

‘Go forth young man

   and earn your corn.

 

God favours those

   who can smell

a healthy profit

   and spend it well.

 

A dream of plenty

   sits within

all humankind –

   your kith and kin

 

are all that should

   concern you, see -

society’s dead,

   god bless the free.’

 

And so he laboured

   night and day

to raise his factories

   that would pay

 

for all the gold

   and fancy loot

that made him smile –

   the tailored suit

 

The country house,

   the gleaming car

the stocks and shares,

   the restaurant bar;

 

His workers toiled

   till they were sore

but still he craved

   more and more.

 

An empire here,

   and everywhere

chimneys spewing

   into the air

 

great clouds of smog

   and balls of lead

that people breathed

   and dropped down dead.

 

The rivers boiled

   the earth was churned

the fishes in the sea

   were turned

 

into breaded fingers,

   salty treats

wrapped in plastic

   cheap cut meats.

 

The lame, infirm

   useless chicks

were macerated

   or pierced with sticks

 

poor Earth and all its

   creatures lost

the will to live

   at such a cost.

 

The witch returned

   and said ‘Not bad!

But growth is only

   good, my lad

 

If it increases

   day by day.

So, buckle up

   and do what may;

 

Extend your riches

   far and wide -

there’s lands just ripe

   for genocide.

 

God handed down

   the earth to us.

Entrepreneurs

    don’t make a fuss

 

about who owns what –

   there’s things to do!

Just grab it all

   that’s best for you!’

 

But fear will flourish

   deep inside

when poverty and

   hunger rise

 

when nature’s way

   is scorched to death

and madness answers

   every breath.

 

His factories found

   that all their tat

could not be sold;

   The proletariat

 

evicted from their

   draughty homes

lived hand to mouth

   with only bones

 

and tripe and ends

   of bread to chew.

‘Protect the many

   not just the few!’

 

His children said:

  ‘This world’s a dump

and you’re to blame

   for this great slump -

 

Hoarding cash

   all for yourself!

We don’t need it -

    spread your wealth!

 

And let the pure

   waters flow

so trees and flowers

   may bloom and grow.

 

Our children will

   inherit this mess -

it’s time for you to

   seek redress

 

for all your years

   of dividends.

Make good your life

   before it ends!’

 

And so he gave

   away his dosh

to poor folk who

   were all awash

 

with hunger, sickness

   cold despair -

He attended to them

   everywhere.

 

‘A saint’ they said

   ‘has come to us

and blessed each soul

   without much fuss!

 

His spirit is pure

   now that he

plays his part

   in society.

 

Let’s celebrate

   his goodly heart

and raise a statue

   or work of art.’

 

But our hero said ‘No!

   There’s more to do.

Wait until I return

   to you.

 

I must confront

   at long last

a hideous dragon

   from my past.’

 

Deep in the forest

   where spooks all lived

he called out

   to the witch ‘I bid

 

you, show your face

   right here and now!

So, I can tell you

   exactly how

 

your foul ideas came

   to blight my life

caused untold millions

   of others strife;

 

Show yourself!

   you wicked dolt

so I might wring

   your haggard throat.’

 

The witch appeared

   and with a frown

said ‘Tut-tut, my boy

   you’ve let me down.

 

A buccaneering

   risk-taking bloke

has proved to be

   servile and woke.

 

Abjuring of your

   wealth’s a lie -

like warm and flaky

   apple pie.

 

Your do-goody-doing

   has milled my grist!

You’re nothing but

   a closet socialist!

 

Who cares if the poor

   starve and freeze

They’re snowflakes

   pissing in the breeze.’

 

Our hero didn’t like

   much of what she said,

and promptly lopped-off

   her scrawny head.

 

Oh, how they cheered

   when he held it high -

‘Our world is rid of

   the witch’s lies!

 

We’ll build a statue

   but not of me

lets fashion an image

   of the witch, you see,

 

so all will remember

   the horrors she wrought

upon our hallowed land -

   Vile argonaut!’

 

Our hero did indeed

   keep his word.

A statue was made

   of the old butcherbird.

 

It can be seen today -

   you can all go down

to where it stands

   in Grantham town.