By a bench stood a wee infant,
yelled at the top of its voice.
“Just you pipe down, now cease your rant,
gypsy child, do stop that noise!

It will be noon, any moment,
daddy’s coming from the field;
my cooking’s spoiled, the stove’s gone out,
because of you, naughty child.

Hush, look, here’s your soldier, pushcart
and your cockerel, go and play!”
The cockerel, soldier and pushcart—
boom, crash, they all fly away.

Again that dreadful piercing yell.
“May you feel the hornet’s sting!
To deal with you, naughty rascal,
Noonday Witch to you I’ll bring!

Hey, Noonday Witch, fetch him, come on,
give the naughty boy what for.”
Lo, into the room comes someone,
softly unlocking the door.

Tiny, swarthy, features haggard,
a kerchief she is wearing,
leaning on a stick, she’s bow-legged,
her voice like a storm raging.

“Give me here that child!”— “Oh dear God,
forgive me, sinner, my sins.”
Of impending death mother’s in dread,
lo! Noonday Witch—here she comes!

Towards the table soft she writhes,
shadowy Noonday Witch slips;
mother, in terror, scarcely breathes,
in her lap the child she grips.

Embracing him, behind she peeps,
o woe, o woe, the poor child!
Noonday Witch ever closer creeps,
closer, closer comes her tread.

She seeks to seize him in her wrist—
mother holds him in her arms.
“For the passion of Jesus Christ!”
she sinks senseless as she swoons.

One clang, a second and a third—
the bell starts ringing for noon,
the latch clicks, the door’s open wide,
and father enters the room.

Mother lies senseless on the floor,
the child to her breast she clasps;
mother to life he’ll just restore,
but the child is choked, lifeless.