(a creepy poem i wrote at like 2:00 last night...)
Matilda May
Was eight years old today
The kids at the park
Called her dress too dark
Chanted sneers arose from the crowd
High-pitched and drawling, all together much too loud
'A which! A witch!
A terrible snitch!'
When a voice through the clamor rose
Marvel Matts had a rebuttal catered for foes
'If this be a which, then I'm afeared for my life
For she have a pure soul, and shalt be my wife'
A giggle, a gaggle, a rose-filled kazoo
Split through the air, and surrounded the two
Young Marvel Matts just stood there and stared
Till Matilda May decided that no one cared
She got up a