In misty hills where shadows creep,
Lived Maeve, a girl whose dreams ran deep.
She tended chores, she tended lands,
Yet longed for more than earth and hands.

Beneath the stars, her heart felt right,
to seek wonders beyond her sight.
From hills and mist, a figure came,
a shadow without a known name.
A Pooka sleek, in raven form—
A creature neither kind nor warm.

This fateful dusk, while winds did play,
This raven dark did cross Maeve’s way.
Its eyes aglow, like molten gold,
Its gaze both mischievous and bold.

It thrived on chaos, loved the chase
Of those who wandered through its space.
It perched upon an ancient tree,
And then cawed, “Maeve, How do you be?”
Its feathers black, its eyes like flame,
A spirit proud, with playful aim—

Her breath caught tight, her heart did race—
A talking bird in such a place!
“You’re no mere raven,” Maeve did say,
“What spirit walks in this array?”

The raven bowed its feathered head,
“Pooka child, to you I’ve been led.
“How be you, Maeve, my dear?” it cawed,
With mischief ripe, both wild and broad.
A shape-shifter with cunning grace,”
“I’ve come to haunt the empty space.

Its eyes like gold, its feathers black,
A playful spirit, on the track
of crazy, crackpots, lost and strange,
Thrives on chaos, loves the deranged.

Again, “How be you, Maeve my dear?”
It cawed, it cackled loud and clear.
“What’s your name?” young Maeve instead asked.
“What name do you like?” it asked back.
“Well, Cearnaigh’s one I’ve been fond of.”
“What a fit—that’s a name I Love!
Cearnaigh’s the name I’ll wear with pride”
This spirit born from realms outside—
“I seek the bold curious heart,
For them, my tricks and journeys start—

Will you, Maeve, with your courage bright,
come ride with me through boundless night?
Be my guide to madness, no foe,
with Pooka, here and there, you’ll go?”
Her mind ablaze with wild desire,
Maeve answered swift, her heart afire—

“I’ll ride with you through every gale,
Wherever your dark wings prevail!”
The raven laughed a cackle-caw,
Transforming into what she saw—
A stallion black as midnight’s cloak,
Its mane like winds that stirred, It spoke,

“Climb on,” it said, “and hold on tight,
For we shall gallop through the night!”
With trembling hands, her heart aglow,
She mounted fast, and they did go.

Through darkened woods, along the trail,
With hooves a blur, and flowing tail,
through valleys deep and rivers wide,
The stars above their only guide.
Through ancient forests, mountains high,
They leapt beneath the endless sky.

“Where are we bound?” Maeve called aloud,
As clouds covered them in a shroud.
“Beyond the world, where dreams unfold,
To lands where stories still are told.”

The Pooka laughed, a gleeful sound,
As Maeve clung tight, their bond unbound.
It warned of dangers far and near,
that vanished. They were never there.
Yet sometimes, gentle as the breeze,
It spoke of truths to put at ease.

A trickster, yes, but still a friend,
Its mischief meant to heal, not bend.
The Pooka laughed, its voice like song,
As Maeve held tight, their bond made strong.

She loved to see that shadow glide,
and hear its laughter, soft and sly,
Each night tempting once more to ride,
in wild flight, no harm implied.

Again they raced through shadowed light,
Past mountains tall and plains of white.
Cearnaigh became wolf, fox, and hare,
Shapeshifting quick, with joyful flair.
Through ancient woods and hills they flew,
The world below a fleeting view.

and every night she took its flight,
never to be lost, nor feel fright.
In raven’s laugh, a Pooka’s grin,
she thrives where lunacy begins.

Each time Pooka led Maeve away,
Where wonders brightened each new day.
Her mind alight with wild desire,
Maeve’s mind stayed swift, her soul afire
Though it warned, peril’s ever near,
The danger always disappeared.

She knew Pooka was never far,
her fairy beast beneath the stars.
And every night, their bond did grow,
when she felt lost, the Pooka’d show.

A laugh, a trick, a friendly grin—
It thrived where madness might begin.
“Climb on,” it said again, “hold tight,
For we will gallop through the night!”
With hands that trembled, heart aglow,
She mounted quick, once more did go.

again as gentle as the breeze,
It spoke of truth, put her heart at ease.
She wed, she worked, she lived her life,
Yet dreamed of Pooka when in strife.

The years rolled by, some were in plight,
yet she held on till morning light.
As Maeve grew older, wise and kind,
Her vigour began to unwind.
One cold eve, when her hair had grayed,
She sat outside, where children played.

Her hands were worn and body sore,
But in her heart, that spark, she bore.
A voice she heard, both soft and sweet,
That laugh she knew—her soul’s heartbeat.

Cearnaigh returned, in raven guise,
With golden glint within its eyes.
“It’s time,” it said, “for one last ride,
Are you prepared, Maeve, as my guide?”
She smiled through tears, her spirit light,
And rose again, prepared for flight.

Her gait was slow, her bones were tired,
But in her heart, that spark still fired.
The raven grew, a horse once more,
Maeve mounted quick, though limbs felt sore.

Then Pooka stopped the flow of time,
no second passed, no clock did chime.
Once more they rode to the beyond,
not a moment lost in their bond.
A guide to madness, yet no foe,
with Pooka, here and there, she’d go.

“I feared you might not come” she cried,
As stars around them multiplied.
“Where are we bound?” Maeve once more asked,
“In this last ride what is our task?”

“There’s more to see, beyond the veil,
Where spirits soar, and winds set sail.
Beyond the sky, where dreams take hold
of spirits that never grow old,
To realms unknown, beyond the blue,
Where time is dust, and skies are new.”

With one great leap, they soared so high,
Into the vast and endless sky.
Higher still, through the clouds they flew,
Until the world beneath withdrew.

Onward they raced, to distant lands,
Where time released its tethered hands.
And in that place where dreams unite,
Maeve and Pooka took their last flight.
Their bond eternal, wild and free,
They rode together, endlessly.

And still today, when night is clear,
If laughter echoes near your ear—
Know well the Pooka calls again,
it seeks the dreamers, all who bend.

It calls to those with minds askew,
Eccentric crackpots—me and you.