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One of the tightest metres in Old Irish poetry is called "Anmhain" (Spirited). The stanzas have four lines each, with only 3 syllables in each line. I see this as similar to some of the terse forms of Japanese poetry, which force you to boil language down to its essentials.
Samhain (pronounced "Sow-en") is modern-day Hallowe-en; the end of the summer half of the year, the beginning of winter, and probably when a new year was celebrated in so-called Celtic countries.

Anmhain na Shamhna

Mamo__a__story_of_geraldine_plunkett_dillon_by_isolde_obrolchain_carmodyby Isolde ÓBrolcháin Carmody19 Jun 2014

Samhain comes
Longer night
Lowered sun
Moon runs high

Birds still sing
Leaves drift down
Joyful dogs
Late night run

Woodsmoke smell
Sharp the breath
Mist breathed out
Cold the toes

Stars blaze cold
Hunter stands
Harvest’s home
Samhain’s come.