Banshee
The banshee wails within the gale
and unease weaves its wary tale
across fair Eire’s inland moor,
a Lord will die by ancient lore.
The banshee wails.
Her hair is torn, her face so pale,
her gown a tatter shrouded veil,
bringing only dark and horror.
The banshee wails.
'Tis but a warning, a mournful hale
a piercing sigh, the end's exhale
soulful sound, a mother’s clamor,
cutting through the shields of armor
though death, the sound, will not delay.
The banshee wails.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2010
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment