Where All Her Magic Gathers

Items have a tendency

To float in here

Residual magic lingers

Wherever she neglectfully

Drops it in sprinklings

Here and there

Sometimes

The cats' fur stands on end

And the poor creatures lick in vain

Trying to make it lie flat again

This magical place

Is the witch's study

Where she practises her craft

Brews her potions

And casts her spells

And it's not that she's

A terribly inept witch

Dropping her magic everywhere

She's just the tiniest bit

Haphazard

And perhaps a good deal more

Overcreative

It could be said

That she applies her magic

Too liberally

Until it overflows

Onto her worktop

Causing empty potion vials

And spellbooks

And sometimes

A cat crying out in alarm

To levitate

Always she laughs at whichever item

Floats serenely and innocuously

Above the table

And a tiny tinkling bell sound

In the corner

Means her fairy laughs along, too

But even the winged, tiny creature

Keeps her distance

Watching the goings-on from afar

Because even she has fallen victim

To the rampant magic

That the overzealous young witch

Overproduced in days past

But curious cats

May never learn

And the fairy

Doubles over in tinkling laughter

As a particularly frazzled-looking cat

Floats passed growling crossly