Svetlana is my gorgeous young servant,
She cares for my every need,
Well perhaps I should just say ‘almost,’
For not on everything have we agreed.
You see whilst I am old and wrinkled,
Certain urges I still have about me,
Yet when I have tried to seduce her,
She simply adds something to my tea,
True it dampens my ardour,
Yet when I wake up next day,
Those urges come back to haunt me,
Yet Svetlana still keeps me at bay.
And so I sit in dim light of a lit candle,
To the spits and crackles of an open log fire,
While Svetlana tends to my ablutions,
I watch her still consumed by desire.
In my old fez hat and with ear trumpet,
A glass of port that never runs dry,
This old mansion is not such a bad place,
Seen through a monocle about my weak eye.
And then of course there’s my blanket,
At my age I get so very cold,
If only Svetlana would warm my four poster,
I’m guessing I would not feel quite so old.
Personally I can’t see the problem,
So I’m ninety six and she’s just eighteen?
With a mere modicum of encouragement,
I’d be the King to her Queen.
Still nighttime has once more descended,
By moonlight we will go on to the moor,
Svetlana has set up my wheel chair,
Which I sit in as we exit the door.
For this night I have something to show her
Something I think spectacular!
Svetlana will get more than she bargains,
When I tell her I’m Count Dracula!