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Pass rolling hills and onward,
Compelled by faerie song,
Imprisoned by my masterless limbs,
As they carried me along.

Crashing waves against the rocks,
Was not my thought to find,
But a secluded shore, do stand before,
As I left the hills behind.

Sounds from all around me,
Of natural and mundane,
Began to grow in unison,
And musical became.

There before me, a lady stood,
Calling unto me,
Her outstretched arms were beckoning,
That I should answer to her plea.

The waves kept perfect rhythm,
The wind, a peaceful shrill,
I moved into her waiting arms,
And within them, I was stilled.

Facing her was timeless,
As she stared into my eyes,
And an inner peace upon me fell,
With a warmth much like sunrise.

With that, she smiled wondrously,
As her hands came to my face,
She brushed her fingers across my cheeks,
With a soft, unearthly grace.

Around me, she began to dance,
To sing a soft, melodic song,
And like my body, my captured soul,
To me, did not belong.

Round and round, she circled me,
In the center I did stand,
And down I looked to trace her steps,
To find no footprints in the sand.

With awareness new, I stared at her,
For a mortal, she not be,
But a living spirit of the hills,
This Lady of the Sidhe.

With mortal thoughts, I told myself,
As my conscious did reveal,
That the vision here before me false,
Must therefore not be real.

With that, I was stricken deaf,
Save for the natural sounds I hear,
And the lady who encircled me,
That instant, disappeared.

Mortal thoughts are deadly,
And not to be embraced,
They forever bar me from the sight,
Of that lady’s gentle grace.

For as I stood there in the sand,
I called her back to me,
And waited there to only find,
She answered not my plea.

The moon with that, would now depart,
And with the sunrise, I did leave,
To look not back with any hopes,
Of a conditional reprieve.

So if entranced and charmed, you come to find,
And a lady before you be,
Then deny her not with mortal thoughts,
This Lady of the Sidhe.

Sidhe – pronounced (shee)
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Written on 1985

Submitted by Warbard on September 24, 2021

1:52 min read


Poet & Philosopher, Soldier & Scholar, Warrior & Writer, Husband & Historian, Father & Freemason. Since the early '80s, Warbard has been a pen name for Shelby Chandler who is a historian and has made a home for his wife and four daughters in the area of Fredericksburg, Virginia. more…

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    "Banshee" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 20 Oct. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/110450/banshee>.

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