SOMEHOW OR OTHER I WASN'T AFRAID (MAGICAL BROOM)

 

It was Halloween night when I noticed my broom

With which I had lately been sweeping my room.

Seeing it move, I remarked with surprise:

"I cannot and will not believe my own eyes!

A broom doesn't move from its place by the shelf!

A broom is a broom!" I declared to myself.

Yet it struck me as strange when I noticed, my dears,

That the broomstick was growing a couple of ears;

And I have to admit that I turned rather pale

When all of a sudden it sprouted a tail.

Said I to myself: "I am dreaming, of course!

A broom doesn't turn itself into a horse!"

Refusing to look at the broom any more,

I hurried away, and I opened the door.

But there I was stopped by a queer little sound.

I paused with a shiver, and glancing around,

I lectured myself in my sensible way:

"You're hearing things, silly!  A broom doesn't neigh!"

Little I knew!  'Twas uncanny, of course,

But the broom had become a complete little horse!

He pawed at the carpet and whinnied at me:

"Hop up!" he invited, as plain as could be.

So I climbed on his back as he wanted me to,

Then out of the window he happily flew!

Feeling as if I had saddled a breeze,

I clung to his mane as he hurdled the trees. 




Artist Leo Harrington

Gracefully rising, he headed for Mars,

And the street that he galloped was cobbled with stars! 

Now suddenly witches appeared in the night

And followed behind like the tail of a kite.

Uttering horrible cackles and croaks,

They swooped all around in their fluttering cloaks.

Heavens to Betsy!  A spooky parade—

But somehow or other, I wasn't afraid!

As my broom and I traveled that shimmering land,

The Man in the Moon waved a glimmering hand

And cheerfully hailed me, inviting me, please,

To stop for a bite of delicious green cheese;

But before I could answer a yes or a no,

We were sliding the sky to the valley below.

I was back in my own little cottage again.

 

I looked at my broom very sternly, and then

Said I: "I have never been out of this room!

It couldn't have happened!  A broom is a broom!”

Untangling a cloud from its bristles—once more,

I stood it aslant in its place by the door.