Gaily bedight,
   A 'familiar' sight,
From story and from saga,  Â
   Had journeyed in boots,  Â
  Along vengeance's route,
In search of Baba Yaga.
Â
  His witch was dead now cold—
  This cat so bold— Â
Loss cut him like a dagger— Â
  Still not he found
  No track on the ground
That led to Baba Yaga.
Â
  And, as his ire Â
  burned into too hot a fire,
He had a drink in a plaza—  Â
   ‘Bartender,’ asked he,  Â
   ‘Where can she be—
The witch called Baba Yaga?’
Â
  ‘Over the Mountains
   Of the Rus,
Into the forest of the Magi,  Â
  Stride, boldly stride,’
   The man replied,—
‘If you seek out Baba Yaga!’
