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