The Banshee clan


Total streams that fill the sky

With the sounding of the banshee

Touch me not

For it’s not my time to bandy


The banshee cries for those to pass

My time has not yet come

I hear the shrilling in my ears

The throbbing in my heart


Yet of the draw there is no touch

No shriek to call me home

The Banshee cries her mournful shriek

To bring the wayward home


Yet she stands in empty fields

Longing for the turning

Knowing not if it will come

Or if she’ll stand a yearning


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