On A Tour of Transylvania
by John Grey
High on a hill looms a castle.
"Hasn't been anyone living there
for more than two hundred years," says the guide.
Its outer walls are crumbling
and invaded by vegetation.
The occupants, apparently,
were an inbred, eastern European family
who mostly kept themselves cloistered,
away from prying eyes.
“No one dared pry anyhow,” adds the guide.
“Of course, there were rumours.”
I’ve found that rumours are what pass for facts
in this part of the world.
“Are you familiar with the legend of the vampire?”
he asks.
The adults in our party shudder.
The children laugh.
The lake waters below are a glistening blue.
The valley is a Constable, unframed.
Lush forests hem us in on all sides.
But all eyes are on the turret
where a strange, gaunt man suddenly appears.
The guide waves.
The odd creature waves back.
“That’s Hans,” explains the guide,
“A typical inhabitant of the area.”
Only in Transylvania
could skin paler than porcelain
represent local colour.
"Hasn't been anyone living there
for more than two hundred years," says the guide.
Its outer walls are crumbling
and invaded by vegetation.
The occupants, apparently,
were an inbred, eastern European family
who mostly kept themselves cloistered,
away from prying eyes.
“No one dared pry anyhow,” adds the guide.
“Of course, there were rumours.”
I’ve found that rumours are what pass for facts
in this part of the world.
“Are you familiar with the legend of the vampire?”
he asks.
The adults in our party shudder.
The children laugh.
The lake waters below are a glistening blue.
The valley is a Constable, unframed.
Lush forests hem us in on all sides.
But all eyes are on the turret
where a strange, gaunt man suddenly appears.
The guide waves.
The odd creature waves back.
“That’s Hans,” explains the guide,
“A typical inhabitant of the area.”
Only in Transylvania
could skin paler than porcelain
represent local colour.