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.