surrender dorothy

so nice
not to hear a word
from siblings.
not a peep from over the river.
but I suspect
they must
be up to something.
tired from writing
your name in the sky,
now off their brooms.
I can almost see them
hovering
over a boiling
cauldron, the raging fire,
with big spoons,
throwing in bat wings
and bitter spices,
chanting
in their special way,
casting a spell
to make something happen
to curtail
the happiness of you
and others.