PUD NOT BLOOD
The night was dark, the moon had gone
On holiday to find the sun.
Creating a perfect setting for
A vampire landing on Whitby shore.
Yes! Count Dracula had come to Town
Dressed in his long black flowing gown.
Not as we thought for a maidens blood
But he’d heard of Whitby’s Yorkshire Pud.
Roast beef, potatoes, peas and sprouts
A local cure for a vampires gout.
Through daylight hours in deep sedation
When darkness fell, came a transformation.
He’d don his long black flowing gown
And catch a black cab into Town.
Not yearning for a maidens blood
He’d sink his fangs into a Yorkshire Pud.
Enjoying each delicious tasty bite
He’d return to his coffin before daylight.
Back to his silk lined wooden oak bed
Went Count Dracula the great undead.
His life prolonged without drinking blood,
For the Yorkshire pudding did him more good.
By
Alfred Weston
© Copyright Reserved 2003
The night was dark, the moon had gone
On holiday to find the sun.
Creating a perfect setting for
A vampire landing on Whitby shore.
Yes! Count Dracula had come to Town
Dressed in his long black flowing gown.
Not as we thought for a maidens blood
But he’d heard of Whitby’s Yorkshire Pud.
Roast beef, potatoes, peas and sprouts
A local cure for a vampires gout.
Through daylight hours in deep sedation
When darkness fell, came a transformation.
He’d don his long black flowing gown
And catch a black cab into Town.
Not yearning for a maidens blood
He’d sink his fangs into a Yorkshire Pud.
Enjoying each delicious tasty bite
He’d return to his coffin before daylight.
Back to his silk lined wooden oak bed
Went Count Dracula the great undead.
His life prolonged without drinking blood,
For the Yorkshire pudding did him more good.
By
Alfred Weston
© Copyright Reserved 2003
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