His blood is black and boiling hot, he gurgles ghastly groans. He'll cook you in his dinner pot, your skin, your flesh, your bones.
Jack PrelutskyShe comes by night, in fearsome flight, in garments black as pitch, the queen of doom upon her broom, the wild and wicked witch.
Jack PrelutskyI keep a guitar around while writing and will improvise music. I do this for several reasons, such as that it's fun, and sometimes it helps me with the meter.
Jack Prelutsky