Come here child, let me tell you a story.
A wanderer so witty went to a Land so scary,
A Land so scary made his stay so gory,
And so was provoked the wanderer’s fury.
Find a seat, you will like the story.
The name of the Land, my dear, was Derry.
Too much witches, too many bodies to bury.
Hunger spiced their food, no such thing as curry.
Ghosts punctured hymens, none in town a cherry.
Find a seat, my dear, really scary was Derry.
The king of the Land said his daughter will marry
Anyone who can indeed restore the poor Land’s glory.
Harry Potter is a fable, the wanderer was not Harry.
The princess didn’t have to be bait, the wanderer felt so sorry.
What a father will give her daughter to any mongrel to marry?
The wanderer boiled at last into his little armoury,
Grabbed odds and ends, practiced his archery.
Enough of witchcraft! Enough of sorcery!
Enough of dark arts! Enough of wizardry!
In fact, he emptied in fury the entire armoury.
He gushed out of his house on a night so starry,
Filled with gallant courage and courageous gallantry,
Towards the woods he marched, into the coven’s territory.
But they were already waiting for him to cross the boundary,
Longing for his blood, how the night was starry!
He hardly emerged before they attempted the butchery.
Who would have known he knew how well to parry?
The first witch he grabbed did not survive his battery.
But they soon seized him and made his vision blurry.
Perhaps at last, he fell victim of their butchery.
“Stupid young fool, what brought you to Derry?”
Asked a blurry figure, holding some cutlery.
“I came to kill you, poor witchy deary.
“Where a child of light is, gone must be quandary.
“Get ready to die”, he shrieked, “bloody witches of Derry.”
Laughter filled the night like beer would fill a brewery.
“Does he even know our leader? Van Helsing of Derry!”
“He cannot even stand up, yet bathes himself in flattery.”
“Can someone pull him up? Relieve him of his weaponry!”
And he felt so dizzy like he had drunk a whole brewery.
What happened after then drained him of his bravery.
After all his worries and burnt calory,
The leader of the coven plaguing poor Derry,
Was nobody but the Princess herself in all her glory,
Sit back my child, hear a tale of bravery.
The wanderer was dumbfounded, writhing in quivery.
His jaws hung open, he couldn’t be more weary.
Overflow of blood began to expand his artery,
Who would have imagined the princess in the evil artistry?
He spasmed, swallowed hard, grunted in quivery.
***to be continued***
Written by: Lord eBay