Hemlock and wolfsbane and a hint of mint was to blame.

Brewed into a toxic cup of tea.

Just one sip or three.

She watched, as they foamed profusely from their mouth with glee.

Bats wing and spice are nice.

Ghost mist is bliss and toad wart are fine.

But she finds toxic tea is the quickest if short on time.

Snake venom hits different, lickety split.

A notion for potions that kills.

Oh what a witchy thrill.

Adders tongue and black sand.

Eye of newt and earwig spit.

Stir it quickly being spry.

It's to die for.

Weary and wizened tough as a broom.

She stirs her Coldiron, bubbling and boiling.

cackling like a loon.

Grey straw like hair and a green eyed serpents stare.

Her glare wicked.

She peers and pokes at her victims.

Her rancid breath, puffed out in a green bog of death.

Her stomach hefty and her legs boney and spindly like a spider.

Her black cat hunched hissing beside her.

A witch with the mostest.

Tragically a horrid hostess.

Care for a sip of tea?

It only takes one sip or three.

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