A young man was walking home from the local, his coat up around his eyes. It was a cold night indeed, the wind howling in the bare trees and carrying along the bite of snow. A responsible lad, he was walking because he knew it wasn't safe to drive after drinking.
Thoughts of his warm bed and a Saturday morning free of chores lifted his spirits, to say nothing of the four pints that did their fair share of spirit lifting. Close to home, he picked up the pace.
A sparkle caught his eye. Just ahead, on the pavement, something shiny was in his path.
He bent over to pick up the silver comb, pausing to admire the filigree work that marked a very expensive item. Any lady who lost such a lovely thing would surely be looking for it.
The wind whipped around and he turned his back to the hard blow. Only a few yards away was a woman, eyes to the ground, and sure she had to be the one who had lost the comb.
"Is this what you're looking for there?" the young man called out.
She looked up, her long blond hair lifting on the wind like angel's wings. Her smile was as bright as a May morning, her step light as she hurried to his side.
"You've picked up my comb," she said, her voice a song. As if she had to test it out, she ran the comb through her hair. A note of joy rose in her throat and filled the air, but too late the young man realized that she was't singing, but was keening.
The headlights of the oncoming car blinded him. The collision happened too fast; he was gone before he felt any pain.
The Moral of the Story: Never pick up a comb you see laying about. The bean si's left it to trap you.
If you fall into her snare, you might try to confuse her with a song of your own----sean nos could save your soul.
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