Baba Yaga A Russian Sonnet
Ah Baba Yaga worst of witches,
Flies her mortar above the night.
Up through the air high over ditches
With pestle plied in ruddered flight.
As broom of silver birch goes sweeping
Away all trace from children peeping,
She’ll snatch them for her evening meal
Beyond a mother's careful zeal.
Then take them to her cabin dancing
On chicken legs and fence of bones
All topped with skulls bring twilight moans
To see her evil cottage prancing
And turn its door toward the wood,
So, darling children, pray be good.