Sorry friends, Helena was held up and could not post for a couple of days. But I chewed through my ropes and broke free, and now I'm here to once again unleash all of my fury. Ha! I almost wrote 'furry', what a hoot. Helena is sipping wine, can you tell.

Anydrunk, as I was trapped in my prison, I decided to pen a poem (Poem a pen after a bottle of Robert Mondavi). I think you will enjoy it, and I want you lovelies to try to guess who the subject of the poem is, and send me the answers. The winner gets a prize (not really, Helena is drunk, don't listen to the promises she makes tonight).

'The witch that I know' By Helena Handbasket-Weaver
(don't judge me, I like to use my hyphenated name when being pretentious) .

There was a lonely pitiful woman who lived in Pine Hill
No one paid attention to her, she knew not what to do
a loneliness in her heart she knew not how to fill
Then one day out loud she spoke mean of a neighbor
and found in a horrid crowd of people she knew
though dubious in nature she was now in their favor

Her husband stayed gone for long periods of time
being around her filled him with apprehension
With this arrangement The witch was fine
for the object of her desire was only some attention.

One day she looked in the mirror and saw a strange reflection
A witch stared back from what was once a normal lady
From this awful strange site there was no protection
Her awful looks a result of her actions so shady

The hurt and pain she caused others now came back to haunt her
in contorting and disfiguring her looks so grotesque
That this might happen to her it did not occur
Did she think it would make her look statuesque?

The end