Wicked

The wicked witch was abominable
at steering her broom.
She cackled wildly
as she swooped 
around the room.

I tried to interfere
by blocking where
she tried to steer,
swooping high and low,
and shrieking happily 
to and fro.

I went and sat upon my chair
and watched the show,
never knowing where she
next would try to  go.
She was fiendish, yes,
but also very cute,
in her floppy hat
and Black Little Number suit.

Her boots were lipstick red,
she had green hair
upon her head,
and she finally came
to land upon my bed.

What can I do for you,
I asked, precisely?
(You dont want to make her mad,
so ask her nicely.)

I want a story and some tea,
is what she said to me.
Make the tea sweet
and the story frightful.
So I did as I was told,
being not very bold,
In the end she was not wicked
but delightful.

Ella, at Poets United's Wonder Wednesday, asked for something Wicked.
A cute little witch popped into my poem and took it over.