A wet mist caressed the half-man of Shadowbush moor
A perfect time for him to emerge and feast on moss or persons
He had never feasted upon persons but sometimes he wished it
They were mean, beating him with their shillelaghs and curses
Leaving him sad, just for a kind touch instead of this ache to his core
The creatures of the moor were kinder though he be broken and bent
Birds would still sing in his presence and frogs croaked without a care
He’d never stepped on one or done no harm and he never ever wished it
Them in the village chased him away when he was young, naked and bare
A face that spoiled milk they said, mis-shaped body, so away he was sent
Within the moor he made his home, away from the village and problems it held
But the moor held gems gifted from Danu such as a log large, hollow and dry
And after a sleep waking cosy and snug he was as happy as he ever wished it
Then as the birds would sing and mist folded back the loneliness made him cry
Buckled his body may be but it was the hurt in his heart that needed to be quelled
Never knowing what he’d done wrong, through the taunts he’d ask but they’d never tell
Blessed his heart was what the animals saw and not the face the persons say sickens
He had feelings just like them persons but he’d do no harm even though he wished it
Some little tricks is ok to make things even, like teaching their dogs to steal their own chickens
A special one saved for those that bashed him the most, he’d creep in the night and shit in their well.
Anthracite 