Dafyd Llaicha


If you wander down the High Street

you'll smell fresh baking bread,

and buns and pies and doughnuts

and spicy gingerbread.

If you care to stop and linger

you'll find the Bakery.

Why not pop in and purchase

some drop scones for your tea?

The Bakers shop is oh-so-quaint,

its contents will delight.

And the Baker, he's a werewolf,

but don't worry, he won't bite.

Well, not the regular customers

and not the new ones for that matter-

No, Dafyd's more concerned about

dropping wolf hair in the batter.

His pies are great, his cakes are fab

and so, it's seldom said

that their hirsute village Baker

is one of the undead.

"So, does he let his instincts rule?"

You ask, well yes - a smidgeon:

You'll sometimes find him in the yard,

munching on a pigeon.

But the villagers forgive him that,

Dafyd scarecly bares a fang.

And they cry out from the rooftops

That he makes a great meringue.

©The Poetic Priestess 2004