Dracula: A Poem

I have a lovely sister, but she is not so much (okay, not at all) into the supernatural shows that I spend quite a great deal of time writing about, thinking about, tweeting about, etc. If, for instance, I mention how Love You to Death is ‘just finishing up and about to go to print’ (true story!), she’ll ask, Is that the VD one? And then I have to say TVD, not VD. (Since who wants to be known as a person who writes book after loving book about venereal disease? Not me.)

Vampires are not her scene.

So, imagine my delight when I came across this poem that my sister wrote in grade school. I proudly present it here (with permission); I have honored the punctuation of the original.

Please enjoy . . .


In this gray and dismal, stonemade haven

The only noises are from a raven,

Until those murky, midnight church bells ring,

And a horrid rasping, unearthly thing,

Begins to move its gnawing, blood hungry fangs.

His ice-white hand from the coffin it hangs

For now the “lid” of his bed is ajar,

His moans of hunger can be heard from afar.,

He quietly lingers out of his bed,

His eyes are like pools of fire, bright red.

He evilly glides over to the door,

With a sly grin he leaves to do a “chore”.,

As he wanders through the deserted street,

He spies a sleeping girl who looks quite sweet.,

As he approaches this blood-filled beauty,

He sinks his white teeth into the cutie.,

He drinks and drools until he is content,

And leaves the room without feeling resent,

His hunger for blood is finally fullfilled,

Back to his castle, for he has killed.


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