Your poor Granddad’s had such a terrible fright:
The ghosties on posties have chased him all night.
     They wanted to catch him to make Granddad stew,
      And when he screamed out – well, wherever were you?

​

Your poor Granddad’s had such a terrible night:
He rode on his nightmare, all dressed in white.
     Through cities and countryside both of them flew.
      He tried to escape – but wherever were you?

​

Well he’s learned a hard lesson, of that I am sure,
And what Granddad did, he’ll not do any more.
      If he’d not eaten cheese before going to bed,
     The ghosts might have chased . . . . . . .

 

                                                  your poor Granny instead.

           

                                                                     H E L P !

 

Copyright on all my poems