Sound Of Death Poem by Mai Murphy Venn

Sound of death

It was so still, so quiet, while the clouds drifted along the night sky.
It was the Midnight Hour as the wee folks came out to play.
Around the fairy ring, imagining them as they dance and sing.

In the countryside on a summer night, there is magic in the air
The smell of nature under the nocturnal sky, there to share.
It's different from the city and the towns, country cultures care.

In the far-off fields, an airy and sad sound was faintly heard
It reaches the pitch, that hurts the greyhound's ear.
The old men said, she has not been heard for many a year

The sorrowful cry lingers as it comes closer to the homestead.
As the night advances on to the early hours it becomes piercing.
Then when it's time for the dawn to break, it is by the window staring,

At sunrise, it was gone as a new day arrives, now tired and weary waiting.
The legend is known throughout Ireland, the Banshee cry, a death direct.
Beware and be prepared, she acts on behalf of the gatherer of souls to collect.