Monday, December 29, 2014


A little while before Robert Yeats died
The Pollexfen banshee set up her props
Three bloody sheets and a washing board.
She sighed; the rules were so rigid!
Just once she'd like to wail for a death
While standing on her head, or juggling.
There was an American spirit, she'd read
Who played the banjo. She had never heard one
But was sure she could master it. Ah well;
The boy's time drew near. She drew breath to wail
And saw that the oldest boy, Willie, had caught sight of her
She blew a kiss, winked at him, and began her lament.

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