Black and grey anticipation,

awaits the trains at Whitby station.

Come observe the chaotic thrall

A carrion call, the Whitby Crawl.

Turn on your flash, for camera tale.

It makes our skin so very pale.

You may approach and seek connection.

Upon inspection, there’s no reflection.

See the Abbey on the hill.

We come to shock, we come to thrill.

Beside the graves a morbid ball.

The eerie call,the Whitby Crawl.

Retain glad thoughts, and happy news.

Summer palettes and Autumn hues.

Lets promenade at Pannetts Park.

We prefer it black and humour dark.

Then levitate, one and ninety nine.

Retracing steps when you were mine.

In Arguments yard, a Gothic brawl.

Embrace it all, the Whitby Crawl.

In trance like queues, forward we move.

In leather boots and thick heeled shoes.

Sharp teeth sink in, to fresh caught prey.

Behold the Magpie, “Catch of the day”.

Judge my shadow, observe me well.

Lets engage inside The Royal Hotel.

A Summers rose, now Autumns fall.

Kiss me quick on the Whitby Crawl.

Begrudge the sun, embrace the moon.

Fear not the Steak at the Withered Spoon.

Or garlic cloves at Cosa Nostra.

See the dead walk, at the Whitby Costa.

Like bats we flee from B&B caves.

In taxis, cars, and bus like trains.

Close the lids await the call

The supernatural, Whitby Crawl