Lament in Ballyboley

Whispering winds through Ballyboley,

Echoes of love lost in the night,

A tale of two hearts, forever free,

In shadows where they long to unite.

Beneath the silver glow of the moon,

Two lovers pledged their final run,

Whispered promises in the gloom,

Their souls now haunt the forest’s fun.

Every year, on the stroke of twelve,

Their voices call, a secret delve,

Calling out from the darkened dell,

A love that no death can dispel.

Oh, Ballyboley, hear their cry,

Ghosts of love that never die,

Silent shadows weep and sigh,

Calling lovers in the sky.

Footsteps echo on the leaf-strewn ground,

Soft whispers float without a sound,

In the midnight’s ghostly surround,

Their spirits linger, love unbound.

Every year, when night is deep,

Their voices wake the restless sleep,

In the woods, their secrets keep,

Promises they still do weep.

Oh, Ballyboley, hear their cry,

Ghosts of love that never die,

Silent shadows weep and sigh,

Calling lovers in the sky.

Beware the forest’s mystic glow,

When the clock strikes twelve below,

Lovers’ spirits drift and flow,

In Ballyboley’s ghostly show.

So if you walk those woods alone,

On the anniversary of their moan,

Listen close and you might own,

A love beyond the mortal zone.