At the very entrance Baba Yaga
Stands with a torch. I had no intent
Of her being in the poem but
She never listened to me when she
Was just a witch; why should she now
That she is among the gods?
My fault, I know, thinking the gods
Could use a witch among them
After Hecate put away her phltres.
I had ordered from my supplier
A very superior sort of moonlight
Which never arrived so the torch
Is the only light available.
It would be appreciated it you
Would pretend the light offered
By a nearly toothless old woman
Smoking an indescribably foul pipe
Is soft and romantic. Ready?