The folklore of the Scottish highland moors is extensive and, frankly, creepy as hell. This is a poem that narrates some of that creepiness. Enjoy…or whatever one does with this kind of poetry!
From marsh and hill through woodland, still,
arose the lithe-limb’d people.
Their frozen stare could nearly kill
e’en those under God’s steeple.
* * *
For many years they haunted men
and frightened little children.
They came at night from eerie dens
to poison, scare or steal them.
* * *
Hunted down with bow and gun
till all were tired and hopeless,
till one cold day, they came upon
a creature in death’s caress.
* * *
So pale and wan, it lay atop
a thicket, robed in grasses;
it’s bluish skin, stout hearts could stop
black eyes, like coal-molasses.
* * *
The men bent down to prod and stare,
its spindly shanks to gander.
The pall of death was everywhere,
with rancorous reminder.
* * *
But just as close to it they came
two deathly eyes did open
and breath reentered lifeless frame
for resurrection groping.
* * *
It lashed on them such furious might
and wicked rage, so cruel;
with hidden teeth, so sharp, a sight
that fed their fear much fuel.
* * *
With deadly speed and deft of limb
it pounced upon them swiftly;
it tore and scratched, ne’er piteous whim,
dispatching them quite briskly.
* * *
No sign was left of men nor lad
who sought to save their village.
All who remained, with fear gone mad,
with frozen hearts lay pillaged.
* * *
E’er since that day, those men of yore
we toast, their tales a’ telling,
who sought their courage to restore,
those impish devils, quelling.
* * *
And when this tale of death is told
young boys, their fathers, query,
“who were those monsters, grey and old?”
“They were the Moorland fairies.”
Rob's Lit-Bits 