In the twilight of the year, when the veil grows thin, The spirits of old whisper, and the magic begins. From the mists of Tir na nÓg, they come to our land, Guided by the Morrígan’s shadowy hand.
Cernunnos, the horned one, roams the ancient wood, Guarding the secrets where the oak trees stood. Brigid’s flame flickers, a beacon in the night, Leading souls safely through the Samhain light.
The Banshee’s wail echoes, a mournful, eerie song, Foretelling the fate of those who won’t belong. Yet in the hearth’s warm glow, tales of heroes are spun, Of Cú Chulainn’s valor and deeds bravely done.
As the Púca rides wild on the winds of the west, We honor our ancestors, their spirits at rest. With offerings of apples and the harvest’s best fare, We welcome the unseen with reverence and care.
So gather ’round the fire, let the stories unfold, Of gods and of legends, of times dark and bold. For on this Samhain night, as the old year departs, We embrace the mysteries that dwell in our hearts.
©2024 Marcus Hazel-McGown.
Marcus, has been involved in Internet applications since the dawn of time, he has a massive interest in Scifi and fantasy novels, cooking, Amateur Radio and the Weather as well as many other subjects. Marcus has a Doctorate in Musicology, and is a lifetime scholar. If Marcus doesn't know the answer he will definitely find it!
