I tread on faith
and face my maker,unmasked and ruthless
with the sad hat of the mad hatter on
Where is my little apple?
I did not ask to grapple
with griffins and Sphinxes
to win eternal wisdom
I am the poor wretched hag
hard to grasp or fathom
from the nearby village
who had but a slice of bread to devour
Where is my apple?
Somewhere in the depth of a valley
or at the heart of a volcano?
Are my broken wings supposed
to cease fire or fly higher than the sun?
Give me my apple, pampered idol!
And go boast of your majesty.