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Poem

Whitby is a great little town 
Nearby Scarborough is too noisy by far
Here at Whitby. you can sit around
On the beach dreaming of castles afar

To Transylvania, to the castle of Bran
Where. I saw a vision of Vlad
Known as the Impaler what a bad lad
Leaving his victims impaled  so sad

I suddenly saw the look in his eyes
I scurried away  I was shaking inside
Round and round the castles did run
Didn't want my body left hanging I cried

His shoes were muffled by the felt coverings we wore
This Is the tradition when visiting here
Felt his hot breadth on my neck
Nearly stiff with fright never known such fear

Through memories mist his hand appears
Grabbing my jacket he hastened to say
This is nice how much did you pay
When I told him in a low voice, Oww Much.*
 were the words that came my way

The spell was broken I could see
Vlad the Impaler was smiling at me
Did I frighten you your face was a scream
Felt like impaling him for all to see

Eyes opened I was back at Whitby sands
Was just a small dream inspired by a plaque
Left to commemorate me a citizen called Bram
Showing the place where I wrote. Dracula.



*oww much a typical Yorkshire expression of surprise at the high cost.






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