The Curse of Tara

By July 23, 2014 at 4:18 pm0 Comments

In a rage she stood there.
She had red fiery hair.
And a cloak of emerald green.
With an icy cold glare.
And a bewildering stare.
Thus spoke Tara Hill’s.
Ancient Queen.

 

‘You will soon rue the day.
And for it you’ll pay.
You violated my sacred mound.
So what could be worse.
Than a Royal black curse.’
Then she knelt on Rath Lugh’s.
Mossy Ground.

 

In the air was a chill.
Then the rath it did fill.
With the rays of the rising sun.
As she basked in it’s glow.
She said ‘I’ll soon bring snow.
And damn you to Hell with.
It’s Chill.

 

With a ‘Black Curse’ so old.
Warm weather will turn cold.
And freeze with it’s icy breath.
Every living creature there.
That ever breathed air.
And chill them to a cold.
Freezing Death.

 

Under a blanket of snow.
My Gabhra won’t flow.
In nuclear winter’s icy tomb.
So much for ‘progress’.
When ye all will regress.
To ‘when ye wielded stone axes.
And savagely howled at.
The Moon.

 

© Kyrie Murray

 

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