Bargaining With A Witch

“I don’t want to be a frog” was my furtive plea.
“The taste of flies and such has no appeal for me;
If not warts, it will most certainly give me acne.
Do you have other choices of what I could be?”

“This is not a McDonalds,” said the angry witch,
“There is no menu for you to choose which is which
And I do not care how much frog skin makes you itch.”
She was getting madder; I could tell by her twitch.

“Well, I guess you are right; I am sorry I asked.
It is for you to select what curse will be cast.
I’d no thought to offend when by your house I passed –
‘Though this mistake is my first, let it be my last.”

“So, you will admit that you did me a great wrong,”
Said the witch, with a stare, so frightful and so strong.
“You trespassed in my woods where you did not belong
And you tortured my ears, singing that awful song.”

“That is what I did, and I readily concede,
That it’s hard to forgive such a dastardly deed.”
So elegantly sorry it was I did plead,
By the tear in her eye, I thought I would be freed.

But some small flaw in her character I did miss -
Perhaps, where her heart should be, she had an abyss.
So that, fair maiden, is why you find me like this.
Do you think you could spare me just one little kiss?