Púca by Mai Murphy Venn Poem by Mai Murphy Venn

I was on my way home just the other night.
When suddenly, sure, I got a terrible fright.
Way up on the hill stood a stallion so black.
I was set to turn around on my heels to go back.
The full moon shone, casting its fine silhouette.
As the horse flared up, it came down, then we met.
He was a spirit full of mischief; now that I was alone.
There were three more miles before I reached home.
I sense a strange feeling all around, everywhere.
That steed was strolling beside me, and I was in fear.
We passed the old graveyard, and I said a quiet prayer.
Hoping the saints might listen and that fandom will disappear.
Well, for a brief moment, he was gone, he was out of sight.
Then, as I turned the bend to the crossroad, he gave me a fright.
Galloping around me as the hair stood on my head.
Wondering. Was he coming for me and by daybreak would be dead?
This was the Púca, and I heard of him from the old folks.
I have been a fool; I thought it was just a simple joke.
Recalling what someone said about crossing where water flow.
By the roadside, a stream did run, and if I crossed it, he might go.
It was a long night, and I was weary, frightened, and alone.
As the dawn broke, he was gone. I made my way home.