I met two witches by the well,
who queried whether I could tell
which witch was bad / which witch was good.
I said: I didn’t think I could.
Both had a wart. Both had a twitch.
Both glared with eyes as black as pitch.
They seemed to be the same to me.
I wished, “Dear witches, let me be!”
“Okay, it’s true, I must confess:
which witch is witch, I’ll never guess!”
That’s why I pushed them in the well,
But which was which, I’ll never tell.