Sit, my love, and stay your hand,
take the seat and drink your ale.
I speak of strange deed in a foreign land,
A lover's dry and bitter tale.

A man there was, beloved he,
to one woman's heart was dear
Til envy's wrath was loosed and free
A jealous rival with naught to fear

This man's wife was stole one night
Our tragic lover's soul was broken
In curses loud, his mind took flight
And dark words spilled, forcibly spoken

A passing spirit, cruel of heart,
heard the grim and mighty vow
And wove a spell of evil art
That blackened our hero's noble brow

From town to town, this man did tread
For his love's pure face, his futile quest.
By music did he earn his bread
Soft music called, the heart to wrest.

In ragged clothes, e'er did he search,
Melodies played in tavern and bar,
By moonlight he stood, by yon silver birch
And sang of loss, of journeys far.

To such heartbroke sound, the women fell,
Our handsome hero took his fill.
From men and children, they followed his spell,
His dark heart bade them to night's vile chill

Sugar-laced, was his tongue, to havoc wreak,
Female heart set a glow.
And in lonely glade, on moorside bleak,
the evil spirit's power did grow.

When, sated, his lover was not to be found,
When damnable spirit's lust was filled,
He took his fair victim's hands and bound,
And to murky earth her young blood was spilled.

In foul demon's retreat, his guilt would sore ache,
and silvered tongue in song would cry
Of another young heart, his to break,
In spirit's shackled essence, left to die

So, listen, fair lady, and pray your heart is wise,
Stay clear of the man who plays the lonesome guitarra
Let your ears not hear his song, nor his lies,
Lest you end up dead, on the moors of Knocknacarra


________________________

My entry for =windfalcon's "Names of Galway" competition. The point of it was to take one of the names from the list, and draw whatever came to mind, rather than what the name actually was. After some deliberation, I took Knocknacarra, with the intent of drawing a bard type musician that first came to mind. But as I doodled, it turned into the pencil work you see above, accompanied by a long poem, detailing the young man's escapades. This is currently being watecoloured, but as the deadline is today, I figured I'd post the pencil first, then update it later when I get the coloured one done.

Both poem and art are my own creation. Why doesn't Deviantart have some kind of category for people who want equal emphasis on both writing and art?

And if anyone tells me that Knocknacarra has no moors, or was nothing to do murdering gypsy musicians with an evil spell on their heart, don't blame me when I tell you in no uncertain terms to read the description.

My thanks to ~thejadedone whose stock provided just the right ambiance for this piece: [link] He's a treasure!