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At first
it's here and then it's there,
And then it isn't anywhere,
It comes and goes and floats about,
But it is real; I have no doubt.
It's up
and down; it's underneath,
They say it lives upon the heath,
And wanders through the town at night,
And gives the citizens a fright.
It's not
a shadow; not a breeze,
It makes me fall upon my knees,
It seems that it is everywhere,
And leaves me with an awful scare.
It calls
my name from near and far,
It's very strange and so bizarre,
I hear it, yet it makes no sound,
It's kind of weird, and yet profound.
But those
who visit cannot see,
The spirit that we call Banshee,
Which screams in silence every night,
And gives the citizens a fright.
It's ours
alone; the town's own curse,
And as I write this simple verse,
I hear it scream upon the heath,
And feel the rattle of my teeth.
by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul
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