Dear Old Mitch

Here is a story, hearken my pitch From here in my dungeon right under the ditch The riddle and rhyme of Dear Old Mitch Hocus Pocus, there's a fat, ugly witch That needles and sews that last little stitch The power bestowed upon Dear Old Mitch He suddenly feels a slight chiding itch This is true power, it isn't a glitch The might and the glory of Dear Old Mitch Destroyer of Worlds without any hitch Even when wielding naught but sandwich This is the legend of Dear Old Mitch Witness his allure, beware his bewitch He could topple Popeye, devour his spinach You best be aware of that Dear Old Mitch He is definitely meta, if only niche As he sets out against the maniacal lich This is the very bane of Dear Old Mitch He readies his saber and gives it a twitch He razzles and dazzles and gives him the switch Marvel the grace and the gavel of Dear Old Mitch Swinging and diving with quaffle and flitch A sport not so unlike that game called Quidditch Beget the champion that is Dear Old Mitch He pierces the heart of that little bitch And levies his coin, and becomes disgustingly rich The wonders of wealth for Dear Old Mitch Silver-haired, and without any kitsch As he flowingly rides his majestic ostrich All hail the fame and the fortune of Dear Old Mitch And alas this, my final hemistich Oh, and that reminds me of which Happy Birthday, beers to my belly, regaling these praises, To Dear Old Mitch!