The witch sat at her table.
Her paints organized carefully.
She dipped her brush into a palette of sunlight
And on the paper traced some tiny buds.

She added a bright green pigment
That she had snatched, just this morning
From the glance of dawn off a passing beetle
And added slender leaves, a strong stem.

She let it dry, on the plastic rack
With just a little magic breeze.
Then closed her eyes and brushed the paper with her hands.
She found the stem, and gently pulled it free.

She set the new flower gently down
In a vase of mountain water.
She would plant it in her garden soon. And as she turned –
SPLASH!
Her robe caught on the pot of brushes,

Inky water dashed the desk
Blotchy sunlight soaked into the paper
In a great wild burst of colour – three pages deep!
The witch bit her lip. And then, she smiled.

She let it dry, on the plastic rack
With just a little magic breeze.
Then closed her eyes and brushed the paper with her hands.
She found the great bright wild flower, and gently pulled it free.