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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/743123
by Shaara
Rated: 13+ · Book · Holiday · #1837134
Sometimes we just want to read about the holiday we're closest to.
#743123 added January 2, 2012 at 3:32pm
Restrictions: None
Samhain Night
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This describes the Celtic tradition of Samhain, which is the origin of Halloween.

The following is an entry in the Writer's Cramp (24 hours/less than 40 lines)

Prompt: Write a poem about a holiday spent unconventionally.


Samhain Night is the Celtic equivalent of our Halloween.
Since this is certainly not how I spend my Halloween,
I believe it is as unconventional as I could get!




*Cat****Pumpkin****WitchHat****Pumpkin****Cat****Pumpkin****WitchHat****Pumpkin*



Samhain Night





In the dark of Samhain, the howlers howled,
And the polecats danced in the moon's yellow light.
Underneath the boughs of the once great oaks,
The Druids awakened and reached for the night.

Seven skinny witches combed brooms full of straw,
While tar-black cats stretched crooked, arched backs.
Nine graying wizards drank brews from silver flasks,
As they stared at the shadows from melted candle wax.

That was the night when death's passage opened,
And Samhain's blaze corralled the fields of light.
Some delivered wishes to help feed the fire,
But cattle bones and magic made it extra bright.

The maidens saw their answers in docking apples.
On the stroke of twelve, they cut them into nine.
They crunched eight parts and looked right behind them.
In the mirror they found their futures in the shine.

Guidance came to those with a dreaming stone.
Nestled 'neath a pillow, it worked for human men.
For when the spirits crept about on Samhain night,
Divination was the sport for friends and kin.

Herders drove their sheep to shelter in the byre.
The crops were taken in, for 'twas summer's death.
Any babies born possessed the "second sight,"
For faeries kissed them all with their wintery breath.

In the dark of autumn when the howlers howl
And the polecats dance at the bonfires of light,
Underneath the boughs of the once great oaks,
Folks say the Druids still prowl on Samhain night.





*Cat****Pumpkin****WitchHat****Pumpkin****Cat****Pumpkin****WitchHat****Pumpkin*




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© Copyright 2012 Shaara (UN: shaara at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/743123