The h2g2 Poem
Created | Updated Oct 29, 2003
Morris Dance Macabre
Clouds obscure a gibbous moon.
The devil strikes the fiddle tune.
The dancers will be coming soon,
the Hallowe'en Morris Dancers.
About the gravestones shadows fall.
In the distance werewolves howl.
From the darkness screech owls call,
they call the Morris Dancers.
With clanking chains and rattling bones,
with eerie whispers and creepy moans,
with shrieks and cackles, sighs and groans,
here come the Morris Dancers.
A raven keeps a watchful eye
as lurching zombies stumble by.
They'll learn the pattern by and by,
the ghastly Morris Dancers.
The vampires come on leather wings.
At once they set to tango-ing.
A couple try to jive and swing,
those stylish Morris Dancers.
Tombstones crack and crypts yawn wide
to disgorge Frankenstein and his bride,
who shimmy and do the 'Electric Slide',
two funky Morris Dancers.
Double double toil and trouble,
cider boil and scumble bubble.
The witches soon are seeing double,
those tipsy Morris Dancers.
A ghost gets tangled in his sheet;
the skeleton's got three left feet;
the goblins beat a swift retreat -
the clumsy Morris Dancers.
It seems the dance has just begun
when over the hill the Wild Hunt comes.
The drummers drop their drums and run
and scatter the Morris Dancers.
The dance is over, the sky grows bright.
The cock's crow chases away the night.
In the graveyard the morning light
finds no more Morris Dancers.
But cheer up, lads, and never fear.
Upon a midnight dark and drear
they'll meet again and dance next year,
the Hallowe'en Morris Dancers.
