Samhain, 1591
By Terry Lowenstein
Gather 'round, lords and ladies.
Lend ear, this tragic tale.
The year was 1591
the season, early fall.
St. Michael's Festival
had, all but come and gone.
Echoes of the hock-cart
still resonated the land.
As the milken was glimpsed
we laughed
and supped.
On mutton, veal and ham,
custard, and fresh pie.
And when the wine was wanting
a comely wench,
bridged the gap
with rounds of stout, brown ale.
We felt not the early cold.
Its warning was ignored.
We noticed not the fleas,
that slipped into our beds.
Truth be known we acted
much like fools.
We laughed at those so different.
forgot the lessons taught.
And when Alhowmesse
stormed our village,
we failed to douse the hearth.
So caught up with revelry,
debauchery knew no bounds.
Wise ones had warned
but, alas, we'd laughed.
Until the darkness fell.
Oh, so black, so black the night.
Our candles offered but dismal light
against the ebony veil.
It was a moonless, starless sky
and others ruled this night.
Oh, the horror we knew.
The screams I hear them still.
We thought us safe.
The castle walls had
long kept us free from harm.
Our farms tended by linen clad farmers.
Goodwives cared for home and hearth.
Glad children ran barefoot through fields.
Maidens were courted by valiant knights.
So peaceful was the glade.
But, for the warnings.
The warnings of the crews,
who came from afar with sickness
clinging to their bones.
Rattus, rattus
X. Cheopsis
Bearers of the plague
brought death that stalked our village.
His harvest was indeed plentiful.
The whole place became a sepulcher.
I hear yet the sound of carts
down cobblestone roads
filled with the dead and dying.
O, we prayed, we wept.
We destiny implored.
But a deaf ear tuned upon us
as a black dog
stole through the night.
Thus, I stand to warn thee.
Beware.
Beware, the Samhain.
Watch portents all.
Less you be as I
the only soul that remains
of a village once hundreds full.
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