Herne The Hunter Poem by Michael Regan

Herne the Hunter
[A Poem in Antique Style]

Do not be not afraid
if in some moonlit glade
of Windsor Great Park,
Herne the Hunter should appear
with diabolical horns
and brutish sneer,
at some appointed time
in expiation of his ancient crime.

What crime could be so great
as not to death to be condemned
but to an everlasting life in that
place of shadows called, by men,
the dismal realm of Hades.

From there the miscreant does
in silence make his way
at almost midnight on the appointed day
to that great tree beneath whose branches
he grimaces and flails his arms
to frighten all away.

But do not be afraid
for Herne is just a shade
a creature of fog
through which one may pass
a hand, though it come out
numb and chilled as glass.