My Grandma is a witch, you know,
And her magic spells are words
That fly across the paper
Like little flocks of birds.

Sometimes they make neat pictures
Of places I can play,
And then, sometimes, they take me
To worlds far, far away.

Sometimes the words are funny,
Sometimes they make me glad,
Sometimes they're very happy words,
And sometimes they are sad.

My 'Gram's' a witch, of that I'm sure,
Her magic made of words,
'Cause I've traveled many places
With her little black 'word-birds'.

But no matter where she takes me,
One thing I know for sure:
She always brings me home again,
Safe, happy, and secure.