The maiden sits at the hill
Longing, crying to take her fill
He left her long months ago
Promising to marry her
Upon his return
Stories are told of a young man
Who fell prey to riches
Lured to his death
Her name last word spoken
On blue tinged lips
Dunleaven
Dunleaven
Dunleaven
His limbs tumbling to the depths
The coldness of the seas
His only embrace
For still she waits
Now a crone
Singing and crooning
Won’t you come home
Dunleaven’s Song
T Lee Hunt 2016