Shalee Must Die
“Swift, your sword. Steady your hand.”
They sent him on his way.
“Blood, blood. There will be blood tonight!”
He heard the townsmen say.
He folded his orders, and slipped through the borders
Stealthy, in his speed.
“Tomorrow we feast, at the death of the beast.
Tomorrow we’ll sing of your deeds.”
Softly he crept, past the night guard sleeping
His fingers upon his blade
Gently he pushed at the door of her chambers
Where the evil thing laid.
The soft summer breeze, did billow and tease
The curtains where she lay
He stole to the head of her moonlit bed
And looked upon his prey.
“A child!” he cried, as he saw her sleeping
Her cheek upon her hand so fair
Her eyelashes, long, fluttered with dreams
Silky and soft was her golden hair.
“I’ve slaughtered and ravaged, many a savage
I’ve slit the throats of elites.
But never—no never! Have I needed to sever
An angel so fair and so sweet.
She awoke with a hiss and leapt from the bed
Her white robes billowing around
She spun in a circle, sniffing the air
Until the assassin she found.
He watched amazed as her green eyes blazed
Glowering at him evil and sly
“What is this, in my chamber?” she cried out in anger
“A killer, a cut-throat, a spy!”
He fell back trembling, as slowly she grew
Towering higher and higher…
The child that once was so fair and so sweet
Had transformed to a serpent of fire!
He realized his error as he stood there in terror
His hand clenched fast the knife
But he fell back in fright at the terrible sight
And feared for the end of his life.
Her hands turned to claws – sharp and long
Her skin glowed green and scaley
And he knew that a child she was not!
But the formidable witch known as Shalee.
“Come henchmen, come slaves! Come Erin, my knave.
Destroy this blithering fool!
He dare enter my keep, while I lay asleep.”
Her voice rang out sharp and cruel.
With courage regained, he pulled out his blade
And held it tight and ready,
A thrust of his arm, a twitch of his hand
He threw it straight and steady.
It lodged in her breast, the blood stained her chest
She heaved! She roared! She writhed in pain!
Her minions were late to her terrible fate
The terrible Shalee was slain!
They pierced him with spears, and slapped him down
They stabbed at his heart, they hacked to the bone
They trampled, they plundered his body asunder
Until he lay dead in her blood and his own.
The villagers came, with pitchforks and flame
And drove out the rest in a fury anew.
They buried him near, their hero so dear
Their savior so brave and so true.
The townsmen afar, the kings and the warriors
Heard of this man who so valiantly bled.
They trembled in honor, they whispered low:
The she-witch is dead!
The she-witch is dead!