Along the sleepy hollow,

in the dead of night.

As the wind whispers

vehemently, giving me a fright.

I know a Cailleach is lurking,

fingers long and gnarly.

Like old branches twisting

across the night’s turning tide.

Hair a tangle of brambles,

her eyes covered in moss.

And yet still seeing everything

never blinking, eyes locked.

Hearing my feint footsteps,

as I navigate the road.

This time will she reveal

I wonder, with a shiver?

Do I want to see her face,

all shrivelled up and bitter?

Am I ready to make it so

do I want her to be known?

A thousand years of haunting,

and yet, now almost forgotten.

In the depths of briny mud

lingering on, rain-worn and fed up.