The Magic Boots, those charms of trouble,
Pad Hell-broth soles against the rubble
Old wrinkled fingers stroke the fur
Of sensible shoes not quite demur
Both heel and toe will hug the ground
Whenever the cursed crone comes ‘round.
Eye of lizard, and tail of mouse,
tongue of dragon and giant louse
A wreath of spirals boil and bubble
With embroidered flowers on cankles double
Runway fashions fork and sting
So power be to leg and wing!
Jan Kather
