Belladonna tried to do black magic, she
wanted to create a nest of vipers - but
begot a pot of begonias, she wanted
to smite and wreck and blast

Saying every morning: ‘Every day in
every way, I am growing blacker…’
Whiteness being a curse - then raised
Sir Simon’ spectre, True Necromancy

Denoting her as black as can be, black
enough for Arriman, Dark Wizard of the
North, but when she woke, blissfully in
love, it was a disaster

Her room filled with snowflakes, music
played, gold and silver tinsel showed -
her brief spell of Necromancy was over,
she could not be the wife

Of Blighting and smiting and
withering Dark Wizard of the North,
she could not meet his standards
of blackness…

Eva Ibbotson “Which Witch? ” MacMillan,1979

Margaret Alice

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/belladonna-eva-ibbotson-rev/