GJERTRUD SCHNACKENBERG
The Meeting in the Kitchen, 1740

Scissors, tallow, sieve, and knife,
Balls of twine and weather vanes,
Meadows filled with spadefoot frogs,
Says Cotton Witt has took to wife
A witch, and her alone explains
Our frost of June, our rabid dogs,

Our sickles broke, our oxen drowned.
Spiddy Preston took to bed
With bee stings blistering both her arms
After she chased Witt's pigs around
Her flax garden, and now she's dead.

Lord keep the Devil from our farms.

The future opens like a grave
Unless our incantation save
South Hadley from this witch's bite,