Badb in the Birch Wood
Long and slender still the limbs
The Silver lady walks again
The banshee that spoke of Death
Trembling in the wind
The first breath of voice so amorous
A twinkling in her eye
The roots expand and churn the Earth
Several memories deep
To mourn in song the Bean Chaointe
Calls back across the divide
In halls of dirt and ash and bone
Immortal stories lie
A pacing wind a bitter toll call forth
The howling Dead
The Silver Lady walks again
In turn and tuck and tree
Half covered flesh that rends from bone
The memory of something Older still
That once ought be well known.
- Joey Morris 2018 All rights reserved