The Dullahan Poem

More about The Dullahan Poem

In the moonlit mist, a rider appears,
A headless figure, that strikes with fears.
A phantom horseman, so grim and dire,
The Dullahan, a messenger of ire.
With whip in hand, and a severed head,
He roams the night, with footsteps dread.
His horse's hooves, a thundering sound,
As he gallops through the haunted ground.
His head held high, by a bony hand,
A lantern burning, a spectral brand.
Its eerie light, a ghastly glow,
A harbinger of death's cruel blow.
The Dullahan seeks the souls of the dead,
A grim reaper, with a vengeful tread.
He calls out names, with a voice so dire,
Those who hear it, feel ice inspire.
Beware the Dullahan's spectral ride,
His gaze, a terror that none can hide.
For when he comes, it's time to go,
A fate so grim, a final blow.
So if you hear the hoofbeats near,
And see the Dullahan's form appear,
Pray for mercy, for your time is nigh,
The Dullahan's visit, a chilling goodbye.