Oh, One on the white horse, To what graceful lands, filled with promise and flowers, You hurry to!! Thorny, dry, and difficult, I demand you avert your handsome visage, as by my right, I need addressed. Unlike the beautiful, carved, and garbed suitably, those princesses that you seek, I yield not for your charms, nor for your heft, weight, or fame. I yield, perhaps, when I am convinced, I am your destination, Turn orthogonal. Pay my tribute. Pray that you realize, it is only through me, is the path to the promised land. Dance with me, Perhaps a minute, a moment, or eternity. Unless I become your present, Future is never.