They reopened the grave of MacTaggert,
To rebury his body at home,
But though they dug and they dug to exhaustion,
They found not a trace of his bones.

Well some said he had never been buried,
While some said he had faked his own death,
And some said he’d been seen, in the Forest of Dene.
And in a tavern close by Inverness.

But some others would swear on the bible,
That they’d been there on the day he was killed,
And they’d further attest, he was shot in the chest,
And was as cold as the bleak highland hills.

And when asked where his body is now then?
They would draw in their breath through their teeth,
And tell you such tales of the highlands,
That to a sane man would beggar belief.

They’d tell of the Bannockburn Banshees,
Who it’s said at the height of a storm,
Would scour the highlands for lost souls,
That had never had chance to reform.

And thus was the fate of MacTaggert,
So you’ll nay find his body again,
For it’s claimed by the Bannockburn Banshees.
And naught but his spirit remains.

Though at the height of a storm you might see it,
As it flits through the heather and fern,
Enticing lost souls from the highlands,
To the fire pits of Hades to burn.

But it’s not just lost souls they are after,
They crave living flesh just as much,
And they say the blood boils and the flesh turns to soil,
If by a Bannockburn Banshee you’re touched.

Whatever the truth of the story,
And I’m not one to pretend that I know,
Perhaps some of them are right, and MacTaggert took flight,
And never was buried below.



But just in case they’re mistaken,
And the Bannockburn Banshees are real,
I’ll be on my way, before the sun sinks away,
And my path through the Moore is concealed.

So though nervous, I summon my courage,
And begin my long journey for home,
Recalling those tales of the Banshees,
And realizing that I’m all alone.

But I’ll not be deterred by their stories,
I’ll laugh In the presents of fear,
Though what was that sound through the heather,
Is that the cry of the Banshees I hear?

Then my foot slips and I know they have got me,
I can feel them gorging away at my soul,
I’m lost for they have me forever,
No wait !!, it’s just an old rabbit hole.

I jerk free and run like the Devil,
And his Demons are after my blood,
Well half run and half hop you would call it,
Because my boot’s still stuck fast in the mud.

When I return home, I’m cold wet and filthy,
But grateful I made it home safe,
Of course I never believed in the Banshees,
But I still bolt the door, just in case.

And the sounds that I’d heard through the heather?
Just wind, nothing more, no big deal,
And as a lightning strike lights up my bedroom,
GOD HELP ME !! The Banshees are real.


By S.E.Ralph

7-2-2016