Baba Yaga

Listen here children,
Have you heard the tales?
Folklore of these trees,
That you wander amongst,
The trees that whisper one name,
A witch that lives here,
An ambiguous figure,

Baba Yaga,

You shall hear her approach child,
As chicken legs upon underbrush,
Her weathered hut astride,
Leaves shiver at her arrival,
Ferocious in her features,
Wielding a pestle,
And accompanied by a sorcerous mortar,

Greet her warmly child,
She can turn from helpful guide,
To child eater posthaste,
Don’t be rude child,
Wield your pleases and thank yous thick and fast,
She may impart such divine knowledge,
Or you may never leave her woods.

Wendigo

Among the great northern forests,
A being of folklore prowls,
All claws and antlers,
An emaciated spirit of famine,
Leathery skin strewn taut over elongated bones,
The very image of a corpse animated,
The pines whisper its name,
Wendigo,

Once a man,
During a cruel winter,
Driven mad by hunger,
Contorted into an abomination,
His mate and cubs became fodder,
But even such a massacre was not enough,
More meat,
Find more meat,

So many have fallen prey to its appetite,
And you may be next,
Sniff the air,
If you smell rot and decay,
You ought to flee posthaste,
The fallen leaves herald its coming,
More meat,
Never enough meat.