wraith like movement
invaded my perception
the flight broke
the darkness of night
silent but visually
across the face
of the little wood
its call as eerie
as the lore stories
of the beanshees keen
from dusk to first light
woods and farmyards
are prowled
in wavering flight
entering the ghost lore
of the countryside
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem