by Sleipnir
Oh cursèd clock that thou shouldst tarry so
and hurry not upon th'appointed hour.
How time's delay is torture well I know,
a captive long in time's impris'ning tower.
For consolation books alone I see
all telling tales of ladies fair and gay.
But fables bold of Knights and Chivalry
can never recompense the passing day.
For Babajaga Fair my heart doth beat
And in her smiles my soul doth find relief.
And so to live without her presence sweet,
is cause for deepest woe and bitter grief.
Unhappy thus, I sit alone, I weep, I sigh
for that far day, when in her arms, once more, I lie.
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