by Lucy Johnston

Oh how he creeps round in the shadows,
And sends a shiver up your spine,
And though you never seem to see him,
He always leaves a sign,
A bloodied mottled carcass,
Deadly pale and fresh,
Stinking of many things,
Like rotten eggs and death,
With blood red fangs and wicked eyes,
Oh what a scary sight,
For this is evil Dracula,
Creeping about the night.