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?
We
begin.
