Hair

There once was a girl in Barbados

Who envied her sister’s hair.

She herself wasn’t pretty,

As plain as a pear,

Oh, but she wished herself fair.

In town she heard tale of a witch

Who lived somewhere south in her lair.

It was said she had magic

Most others would scare,

But a wish she could grant, if you dared.

So off in the night the girl went

And found the old witchdoctor’s lair.

“Oh please,” said she,

“My own hair is dull,

And my sister’s cannot be compared!”

The witch coughed a throaty old laugh

And winked an odd eye at her plea,

“Bring her,” said she,

“It’s a simple revision,

If you give me a proper fee.”

“I’ve nothing to give,” said the girl in tears,

“I’ve no gift nor coin to offer.

Is there anything else,

Some food, or some wine,

I can give you instead to be proper?”

“Never mind gifts,” the witchdoctor answered,

“I’ve no use for coins or meals.

Some wine would be nice,

But not for this vice,

When you come, I will ask for my deal.”

So back the girl went to her sister

And sought out the witch the next night.

“What are we doing?”

Asked the dear sister,

“It’s cold and these woods are a fright!”

They soon found the witchdoctor’s hut,

And saw she made two straw dolls.

“These are for you,”

The witchdoctor chuckled,

“Now watch as I fix your qualm!”

They jumped as she tore the straw heads

And switched the dolls’ bodies anew.

Their own heads followed suit,

And they screamed a high tune,

Throats crooked and stitched all askew.

“Now for my fare,” the witchdoctor heckled,

“You’ve gotten your beautiful hair.

All I ask is your service,

From now till the End,

Until Death meets me, if He dares.”