’twas a sad time what with the animals dying
and the children sick and the full moon waning.
The fields were laid to rest and
Even the prata were frozen well below the ground.
The Good Folk huddled in the shidhe,
Not making a blessed sound.
Barley, damp and rotten, lay black on the fields,
Two cows hidebound and lowing.
What punishment was this?
For what sins were we paying?
Prayers to the good Christ, and
Milk to coax the Good Folk.
Cross yourselves three times everyday,
Put the pine cones, feathers and nuts beneath the tree.
May the gnomes and the Devil not pass this way again,
May the Childe Jesus and Sweet Aghna, settle in our crib.
’twas a sad time we pray not come again.