The Howlin' in the Gloamin'

A lesson from an Irish sage.

'Tis twilight on the Emerald Isle,
A pleasant eve in Spring,
I tarry by a tree a while
Not doin' a blessed thing.

Aye, there is work I ought to do,
I know that I should rise
But thinkin' of a wink or two
I sigh and close me eyes.

Me lids have barely met their mates
When me peace is broken
By fast approachin', screechin' Fate
Whose words should ne'er be spoken.

'Round and around me tree they fly
Words o' pow'r, loud and clear.
I watch the Banshee Queen draw nigh,
Me fingers in me ears.

Her hair is flame, her eyes black coals
Her mouth is open wide
The voice that issues from that hole
Is cause to wish I'd died.

"Seamus, you shiftless so-and-so"
(See, I'm paraphrasin')
"Get off yer duff and grab that hoe,
'Tato mounds need raisin'!"

Y'know, I'm not that faint of heart
I've learned t' face me fear,
But when yer woman's howlin' starts
Ye get yer arse in gear.