‘There’s a vampire in the cupboard’,
Said the door-mouse to the shrew,
‘Well, I’m not going in first,
I insist; after you’.
The shrew it was a clever critter,
It knew how to stay alive,
So the door-mouse braved the door,
It climbed up the side of the frame,
It turned the knob, the door squeaked open,
How did you think it got its name?
The shrew knew then; it was much too late,
To make a run for the hills.
It saw the vampire lift the lid,
Of the coffin that had been still.
The vampire coughed a cough,
And sneezed all on the floor,
And cried ‘my goodness it’s dusty!
Thanks for opening the door!’
The door-mouse still sat silent,
On the twisty old doorknob,
And the shrew it sighed a sigh,
Like the vampire had coughed a cough.
The shrew it smiled at the vampire,
And said ‘dear friend, follow me,
We’ll go and find a tissue,
Or maybe two or three,
It seems you have hay-fever,
It really is a curse,
But the vampire had a problem,
That was really much, much worse,
Its stomach was a grumbling,
As it hadn’t eaten for weeks,
So it ate the shrew and door-mouse,
Then went back in its coffin to sleep.