h a l f b a k e r yWhy not imagine it in a way that works?
add, search, annotate, link, view, overview, recent, by name, random
news, help, about, links, report a problem
browse anonymously,
or get an account
and write.
register,
|
|
|
Years ago, when I was a student, I saw a band performing. I cannot remember the name (the band enjoyed little success) but their distinguishing characteristic was that, between numbers, the singer would recite a Lifeless Limerick to the audience. Here is an example:
There once was a person called
Trevor
Who was neither stupid nor clever.
Of average physique,
Not too strong, nor too weak,
Quite nondescript altogether.
This sublime form deserves better than the obscurity in which it has languished for so many years. Unfortunately, the above is the only example I can quote in its entirety, although I seem to remember that another concerned `a person who lived in a place', and a third `a fellow named Piers'.
Limerick rules
http://www.sfu.ca/~finley/discussion.html
With all the talk of pedantry on this site, I'm surprised no one has pointed out that many of you have not written true limericks. Limericks have a prescribed rhythm as well as rhyme scheme. [dana_renay, Sep 08 2000, last modified Oct 06 2004]
I sense much fear in you. Or much something.
http://www.halfbake.../idea/Yoda_20Poetry
[bungston, Oct 04 2004]
Generic Limericks
http://www.stevewhi...ericLiterature.html
scroll down a bit. [my face your, Oct 04 2004, last modified Oct 06 2004]
Please log in.
If you're not logged in,
you can see what this page
looks like, but you will
not be able to add anything.
Annotation:
|
| |
James lived in an average-sized city
He was not dull, yet nor was he witty
He had a brown cat
which was a bit fat
And I think his cat's name was "Kitty" |
|
| |
After wracking my brains, I have remebered another of the pieces: |
|
| |
A person who lived in a place
Had a body which occupied space.
He lived, it appears
For a number of years,
And belonged to the human race. |
|
| |
I didn't concoct this, but: |
|
| |
There once was a man from Fort Worth
Who was born on the day of his birth.
He was married, some say,
On his wife's wedding day
And he died when he quitted the earth. |
|
| |
There was an old fellow named Piers,
Who lived for a great many years.
He'd eyes and a nose,
Ten fingers and toes,
A chin and a couple of ears. |
|
| |
I know of a thing called the 'Net
Addictive as heck? You bet!
As you scroll down and see
A limerick or three
A glaze o'er your eyes you'll get. |
|
| |
There was once this thing that just was
When asked Why? It replied ‘Just Because.’
Then one day it was gone
But not before long
It returned, just as things like this does |
|
| |
A limericist of our time
Chose to eschew the obvious rhyme.
"If the listeners know
Where my poem will go,"
He said, "they won't think it's substantial." |
|
| |
(This fellow was the master of ceremonies at several local poetry readings, earning him the moniker "Emcee Eschewer." He was constantly getting bent out of shape, but nobody could figure out exactly why.) |
|
| |
There once was a man of a particular nation,
who rhymed with some hesitation.
Not very obscure,
nor particularly pure
- as he tried to eschew obfuscation. |
|
| |
Thats a little less lively... |
|
| |
There's a Half Baked web site on the net
That'll have me in stitches yet
Some ideas are so bad
That I'm just very glad
That my four are all I'll ever get. |
|
| |
(By the way Mickey The Fish, just WHEN were you a student?)| — | Alcin,
Sep 14 2000, last modified Sep 15 2000 |
|
|
| |
Here's some more on this Half Baked web site
That keeps me up until late at night
Some real wacko ideas
Have me nearly in tears
While others I find are just right. |
|
| |
*** The End *** ...I promise (he thinks he's a wit)...(he's half right).| — | Alcin,
Sep 14 2000, last modified Sep 15 2000 |
|
|
| |
"Muchos Gracious, Seniorita" he said
As he sleepily went off to bed
If I don't take a nap
I will spout too much crap
And my hair will fall out of my head. |
|
| |
Was the band 'Soft Machine'? They were brilliant at repetition: "We did it again!", after they repeated a sequence during 'Moon in June'. Onward, [Ahem]:
With no muscle
One cannot hustle
Nay, instead
lay in bed
On a pustule |
|
| |
Recreational linguistics, is a worthwhile hobby in its own right, being one of mine. For example I’ve got three huge volumes of “light verse” I’ve composed, which the ‘bakery will never see because it’s not, according to my short and joyful acquaintance with it, the place for verbal gymnastics. There are many other specialist sites devoted to recreational linguistics, from anagrams to univocalics, including among scores of other pattern-verse forms, the limerick, “clean or obscene”. |
|
| |
I have been negligent of my duties. Henceforth, I will delete any material which is not either a LIFELESS limerick, or a comment on the subject. However, I will leave in Jutta's admin limerick, ad Alcin's response, as they are so delightful. |
|
| |
How about a lifeless Haiku? (written by a friend) |
|
| |
1 2 3 4 5
6 7 8 9 10 12
I skipped 11 |
|
| |
Yes.. they're admissable, I suppose. |
|
| |
This nearly dropped off of the list
While I write I am horribly drunk
So by adding this in
While I sip on my gin
Lifeless Limericks will not be forgotten |
|
| |
There is a young woman from Bewdly
Who never behaves at all lewdly.
She embodies restraint
And will bring a complaint
If you e'er try to speak to her crudely.
|
|
| |
This young girl felt in a rut.
She had little to speak of, but
when she talked she did speak
when she tired she was weak.
This much she felt in her gut.
|
|
| |
She once knew a colour called "Grey"
And when she did care to she may
have bethought it to mull
Over things which were dull
When she wished to pass out where she lay.
|
|
| |
She once went to an event
Which first did come but then 'way went
(there was no confusion
no brawl, no contusions
and all was heard as it was meant).
|
|
| |
A poem should move and should thrill
But none of the verses here will
They are quite out of fashion,
suck out vim and hot passion
like a blue whale vacuums krill.
| — | Monkfish,
Dec 09 2000, last modified Dec 11 2000 |
|
|
| |
More trivia: You can't argue with Quantity. |
|
| |
There is a descriptor called "Dull"
which appellates many a lull.
Not a joy or a pain,
not a loss nor a gain,
But a moment set equal to Null.
|
|
| |
The state known as Medio-crity
is a flat one and not very pretty,
but so large it contains
even Net poets' strains,
which they had thought virtually witty.
|
|
| |
I will now retire. Honestly. |
|
| |
there was a young woman from eeling,
who got a perculiar feeling,
she lay on her back,
and opened her crack,
and pissed all over the ceiling, |
|
| |
i apologise for lowering the tone and hereby swear not to do it again. |
|
| |
ps. i know that is not lifeless but yaknow... |
|
| |
Tho' rhymes which are base or obscene
Are oft' seen as rude, crude, or mean,
On this site here, where entries
Don't pass "moral sentries,"
A bit more schmutz won't kill the scene. |
|
| |
Your limm'ricks are lively, you cheat,
They're supposed to be lifeless, discrete.
When Mickey comes by
And your words he does spy
With a click of the mouse he'll delete. |
|
| |
There once was a captain, now gone |
|
| |
Someone set up him the bomb |
|
| |
We've immortalized him in a song |
|
| |
[Hey it doesn't quite rhyme, but I tried]. |
|
| |
A couple of contributions from a newby: |
|
| |
There was an old woman from Thrace
who lived all her life in one place.
She looked at the town
but she never went down.
And those are the facts of her case.
|
|
| |
There was a pianist named Dougherty
who played on a piano-forte.
He played on and on,
made the audience yawn,
and died when he was about forty.
|
|
| |
Old Henry once told me "Young man-"
"When sunned, you just might get tan."
"And you might get hot."
"You may like it not;"
"So cool yourself off if you can." |
|
| |
There was a man who got fired.
He found that he was quite tired.
So he went to bed,
Pillow under head.
He woke up later -- Still tired! (only less so) |
|
| |
Though stuck
where you stand
you look
over yonder
from the muck
of quicksand
but can't wander
|
|
| |
stand
over yonder
in the muck
of quicksand
you can't wander
you're stuck
|
|
| |
While scrolling thru HB this night,
I found a flaw in my eye-sight!
All faded to black
As my jaw became slack
And I slumped gently o'er to the right...
|
|
| |
When waking up later, I found
As remedies go, it proved sound
My insomniac's nights
These rhymes put aright--
My sleep cycle's on the rebound! |
|
| |
There was a young man from Dublin,
Whose limericks didn't rhyme,
They didn't scan, either,
And they never had enough lines..... |
|
| |
My English prof said, 'write a poem.'
So then I figured I'd show'im.
Thought I had licked
This limerick,
But what the heck rhymes with 'poem?'
|
|
| |
can think of a few, try millennium doem |
|
| |
I thought I'd try this too,
But avoid words like "eschew,"
Instead use simple words,
Like "tree," "spark" and "birds,"
And end with something fancy, like "canoe." |
|
| |
No one around
Not a sound
No sight
No day or night
Beneath the ground |
|
| |
I came back and the first thing I saw,
you've been fighting a limerick war,
so much talent I see,
made me chortle with glee,
H.B.'s one site I just can't ignore |
|
| |
By gad I think it's working!
Happy New Year everyone. (and ta chaps) |
|
| |
Left lane ends. Divided highway.
Stop. Slow. Yield right-of-way.
Speed limit 55. Exit 85.
Do not enter. No outlet. One way.
|
|
| |
entremanure: I don't think she's going to like being called "Mr Jutta Admin Guy". You could have a shot at sending her email, or just read the help page. |
|
| |
To insert line-breaks, you type < br > only without spaces, the same way as you would in HTML.
Like this, see? |
|
| |
Great! Thanks--I'll give it a try. |
|
| |
Hey thanks, Pete.
I was wondering how to do that here... |
|
| |
Dirty limerick (not lifeless) written by my mother 40-some years ago and taught to me as a child for a vocabulary lesson:
There once was a whore from Eau Claire
Whose condition was quite rare
Tho it was proported
Her hymen, she still sported
'Twas her uvula that showed the wear. |
|
| |
I once met someone in L.A.,
Or could it have been in Bombay?
Not sure of the place,
Can't recall his/her face,
And the name, I'll remember some day. |
|
| |
When you discover a loo,
This is not all that much to do.
You can sit just to think,
You can wash in the sink
Or you could do a number two. |
|
| |
There once was a woman of Crewe
whose limericks stopped at line two. |
|
| |
There once was a man from Verdunn. |
|
| |
If this limerick puts you to sleep
I would hope that it isn't too deep.
. . For where would we be
. . If the half-bakery
were a substitute for counting sheep? |
|
| |
A mathemetitican named Drenth
in month n would go forth on the nth.
. . His date the next month
. . was thus the n-plus-oneth.
In October he went out the tenth. |
|
| |
There once was an employee named Bob
Who was depressed when he lost his job.
He said 'what's the use
Of removing refuse?'
And he slowly turned into a slob.
|
|
| |
'Twas dull
and null,
so dumb
was numb-
-skull |
|
| |
Ever since the big bang went kaboom,
There has been more and more elbow room.
Like a big rubber band,
We continue to expand,
Till we finish our days as vacuum. |
|
| |
There was a young lady from Loughborough,
Owned a sow which was a great truffler.
Said the girl to the pig
"You sniff, and I'll dig,
And in Winter, I must wear my muffler". |
|
| |
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Some poems rhyme
Some don't |
|
| |
This would be line number one.
Now you'll see line two is done.
Go on to line three.
Line four's here, you see.
Line five means that this poem's done. |
|
| |
He didn't have the heart.
Right from the start.
So he stopped.
|
|
| |
This limerick will take the word word
And rhyme it with that same word word.
If the very last word
Is not some other word
I am sure that you all wish it were |
|
| |
There was an old man of St. Bees
who was stung on the arm by a wasp
when asked "does it hurt?"
he replied "no it doesn't,
I'm so glad it wasn't a hornet!" |
|
| |
There once was a girl from Boclair
Whose head was surmounted with hair
Her face was quite plain
Her body the same
And her beard? Well it just wasn't there. |
|
| |
Its an ugly door painted orange.
Its got rust on a door hinge.
Not a nice shade
I hoped it would fade.
But now it just makes me cringe. |
|
| |
88 + 5 - 18
- 25 - 14
- 11
+ 12 + 7
- 28 = 16 |
|
| |
Sit there
without a care
or emotion
make no motion
anywhere |
|
| |
Who what when where which why?
These there that this then I.
Her you me,
He it we,
Sleep wake work play live die. |
|
| |
FarmerJohn: Cute, but the meter is faulty. Perhaps: |
|
| |
Eighty-eight plus five minus eighteen
Minus twenty-five minus fourteen
plus six and eleven
and fourteen and seven
minus fifty-eight, equals sixteen |
|
| |
He could never see his feet,
He'd had to much to eat,
He couldn't sit down,
He couldn't touch the ground,
Just stood and ate more meat. |
|
| |
This is the first line of the limerick.
This is the second line of the limerick.
This is the third,
This is the fourth,
And this is the last line of the limerick. |
|
| |
there once was a man from the sticks
who liked to compose limericks
but he failed at the sport
'cause he wrote them too short. |
|
| |
that's one i heard a while back. here's one i've written for the occasion. |
|
| |
a collection of limericks mundane
were compiled within this domain
all of this verse
while seeming diverse
was nonetheless equally plain |
|
| |
In a state of coma
without aroma
there's no smell
May as well
be in Oklahoma
(Trust me, The State of Oklahoma is as lifeless as it gets) |
|
| |
This one isn't lifeless, and was written onff the cuff by an irishman in his 90s...at my cousin's wedding. |
|
| |
There was a young lady from Gloucester,
Who's parents thought that they'd lost her,
Til they found in the grass,
The mark of her ass,
And the Knees of the fellah that "flossed" her, |
|
| |
He has a head for limerick's , but he's from Cork! |
|
| |
Well, there's the classic: |
|
| |
| There once was a woman from Crewe
| Whose limericks stopped at line two. |
|
| |
and the follow-on two it: |
|
| |
| There once was a man from Verdun. |
|
| |
Sorry, just had to have a go! |
|
| |
There was a young lady from Harrow,
who while walking tripped over a sparrow,
She shouted "Oh Fuck",
as she landed in Muck,
Piled up in a large wheel-barrow. |
|
| |
Why thankyou, your too kind.....(Bows)...(Exits Stage left) |
|
| |
I once met a man,
Japanese. A limerick,
He wrote with ease, but, |
|
| |
When it was done, he
Did not want one, but double,
Haiku poems, these. |
|
| |
*One vote for FarmerJohn as the Special Halfbakery Haiku Envoy to the UN. |
|
| |
There once was a guy who wrote verse
So dull it would cause you to curse
After you woke
From the nap it invoked
And found yourself flat in a hearse
|
|
| |
There once was this fellow I knew/
His house it was white, his car blue/
Had a wife ,her name Jane/
His hair brown, his face plain/
One cat, and a dog, children, two |
|
| |
There was a young woman from Bude |
|
| |
who went for a swim in a pond |
|
| |
Stuck his pole in the water |
|
| |
And said, "you can't swim here, its private!". |
|
| |
(re: big bang went kaboom)
Farmer John has lim'rickal brawn
and science to carry him on
but what of the yin
yang's mystical twin
like night returning to dawn
SteveDegoof-Billy Joel reference: I never knew that!
perhaps It changes the song forever.
Do all English speakers save 'muricans fashion themselves poets? |
|
| |
The undead hold no life of their own,
Mere puppets; sinew, rot and bone.
Souls crushed, and wills bent,
To masters enslavement.
You are now entering, The Twilight Zone. |
|
| |
There was a young bard from Japan
Whose limericks never did scan
When people said so
He replied, 'yes, i know'
It's just that i try to fit as many syllables into the last line as i possibly can. |
|
| |
v good [modular] use < br > without the spaces for line breaks, for better effect. |
|
| |
[modular], to elaborate on [po]'s comment...
The following line typed in an annotation:
This<br>is<br>a<br>test. |
|
| |
Renders as:
This
is
a
test. |
|
| |
Just trying to help.
Do you mean <br>avo? |
|
| |
well done, 1/2. night, night. |
|
| |
Even better [modular] is if you write an original limerick, yourself.
Sweet dreams [po].
Sleep tight [half]. |
|
| |
There once was a real stupid thief
Whose ventures were incredibly brief
He stole make-up bags
Rearview mirrors and fags (cigarettes)
And even a gold-painted leaf
|
|
| |
I'll try a literal interpretation: |
|
| |
There once was an odorous stiff
Who walked with a naked midriff
This decadent zombie
Preferred Abercrombie
They buried him, to our relief
|
|
| |
[FarmerJohn] "Who what when where why?" |
|
| |
I guess that just about sums it up.
|
|
| |
Likewise Mr 'Bubba 'tis true
Whatever you attempt to do
Your verses must scan
As best as they can
But that's just my personal view. |
|
| |
After picking at lint on my knee
I went to the window to see
If something outside
Could maybe provide
A sight to curtail my ennui |
|
| |
A man on the bus I did meet
Who paid and then went to a seat
Sat and waited a while
In his place next the aisle
And got off went the bus reached his street |
|
| |
I get paid for the job that I do
Spend the money on things and food too
Like bread, milk and ham
Tea, potatoes and jam
At the shop, where I wait in a queue |
|
| |
Some days (and today would apply)
All efforts at thought go awry
With unfocused gaze
You slip into a daze
And slide off your chair with a sigh |
|
| |
I just had a thought which ran so..
Or did it? It's tricky to know
I thought that, no, wait
Damn, now its too late
It's gone, I was just much too slow |
|
| |
rcarty, you prosaic hack
For limericks you haven't the knack
Before slandering 'Bubba
Try to rhyme and not slobber
And then we might cut you some slack
|
|
| |
I read it all here
and now I do fear
they’re stuck in my head
till I lay down to bed
which isn’t anywhere near
|
|
| |
I had to bun this one simply because the non-thought provoking ones were really funny! |
|
| |
To have a fair fight, I'm afraid
You'd need more than one to your aid
But it's always in jest
jutta's patience we test
making lemons, and not lemonade. |
|
| |
To have a fair fight, it is true
[rcarty] should need more than two,
yet I do not fret
it would be my bet
he's tougher than that boy named Sue. |
|
| |
Many heroes had tried but could not
Alexander did cut through the knot
Though his style did us dazzle
He did not solve the puzzle
So to call him the great?
me thinks not |
|
| |
This is the first limerick I’ve written
And I must admit I’m quite smitten
The form is quite nice
And rhyming’s my vice
The limerick bug has just bitten
|
|
| |
This is only my second limerick
I may just have gotten the trick
I better watch out
While churning them out
Or my boss may just give me the flick
|
|
| |
You bastards you’ve ruined my life
These limericks are causing much strife
They’re taking up time
To find the right rhyme
And all I can think of is Knife.
[.. and rife] |
|
| |
My friend you have well earned your bun
I regret I can give only one
It’s a croissant you see
I bequeath it to thee
And now I really must run.
|
|
| |
This Australian, pedantic, recluse
is known for getting amused
by grammar or spelling or metric
and get angry or arsey or septic
to get his fellow halfbakers confused |
|
| |
Halfbakery's the site that they went |
|
| |
With ideas both doughy and bent |
|
| |
And only a whit of money is sent. |
|
| |
so I'm reading thru all these great limerhacks
and here comes this fellow named thumbwax.
He refuses each time,
to use meter or rhyme.
So lets throw him out on his dumb ax. |
|
| |
My banter offends [UnaBubba]. How can this be true?
Will he now beat me, defenestrate me or sue?
To you, oh poetry and lyrics Don
I would just say "bring it on"
I've been beaten by men who were weaker than you. |
|
| |
Ooh, there's gonna be a big fight
I'm quite all a quiver with fright
They'll sharpen their words
And ready their prose
God, please let no one die tonight |
|
| |
"Damn!" I say, "They're all so good.
Better lim'ricks than I ever could
Write e'en if I tried,
Until I near died.
But, if so, I don't know why I should." |
|
| |
Oh, wait you want a lifeless one: |
|
| |
1 2 3 4 5 6 6 7
1 3 5 7 9 10 11
10 8 6 4 2
13 22
14 111
|
|
| |
There once was a man, Mr Blane,
Who shouted again and again,
And again and again,
And again and again,
And again and again and again. |
|
| |
This limerick has not one twist.
It's about something which exists.
It is there, I can tell,
By its terrible smell.
When it goes, it will not be miss't. |
|
| |
The sky's now a nice shade of blue.
In fact, quite a singular hue.
Not a cloud in the sky,
There's a plane going by.
For the moment, it's over to you. |
|
| |
Dee dum deedee dum deedee dum
Dee dum deedee dum deedee dum
Dee dee diddle dee
Dee dee diddle dee
Dee dum deedee dum deedee dum |
|
| |
Whilst surfin' the bak'ry one day
I found several rhymsters at play
The proposal was "verse,
that's essentially terse,
and the content a beige shade or grey". |
|
| |
There once was something somewhere
Most likely lonesome and bare
It went on and on
Until it was gone
And now, it's no longer there |
|
| |
limericks and poems
can break my tones.
but rhymes
can never
harm me. |
|
| |
Excellent, [Wes], heres my crappy contribution: |
|
| |
There once was a man from Hull
'twas as sentient as he was dull,
he buttered his bread,
till the day he was dead,
and that was his life in the full
|
|
| |
On the writing of Limericks deadpan:
One postulates if one really can.
Call me a cheater,
But each step is the meter,
The whole journey described by the scan. |
|
| |
You might find this rock underground
Not square, but not really round
It won't ever freeze,
Stays about 10 degrees
And never makes any sound |
|
| |
There ain't a darn thing more dull
Than a poke of beans to cull
It's bean after bean
And all of them green
And once in a while a hull |
|
| |
An assignment which might be thought trivial,
From the 'Bakery is nought but convivial.
For such insipidity
Is further validity
Of half-baked pursuits that are drivial.
|
|
| |
Jesus H. Christ on a Sword,
I'm so incredibly bored!
I sit in my chair
I drool and I stare
With all the pep of cardboard
|
|
| |
My best friend used to be Stump;
The man was quite a useless lump;
He had little fun;
Could not run;
And spent his days reading Shonen Jump. |
|
| |
(Yeah, it sounds like my polar opposite. Except for the last line. By the way, how do you keep these lines in poem form without adding spaces? I always end up with a straight line or these spaces.) |
|
| |
When you're writing a limerick, start
with the first line, and then the next
part.
Two lines (like these here)
should be next to appear,
Then conclude with an ending that
rhymes. |
|
| |
In poetry, you might pick
To waste hours perfecting your wit
I'd rather, instead
Stay later in bed
And compose a Lifeless Limerick. |
|
| |
There once was a man from Nantucket
Who was woefully stung by a bee
When asked “Does it Hurt?”
He replied “No it doesn’t”
But I’m glad that it wasn’t a wasp |
|
| |
This is going from bad to verse. |
|
| |
In a moment or two you will see |
|
| |
Just how dull a limerick can be |
|
| |
And poor rhyme forced upon |
|
| |
The poor reader who I'm glad's not me. |
|
| |
There once was a lass from
Pawtucket
who loved to watch paint dry, she dug
it
for when she was done
she could turn to her hun
And tell him to stuff a stock up it. |
|
| |
there once was a tree in a wood
nobody cared where it stood,
and when it fell down,
it made not a sound,
but i know if it could that it would. |
|
| |
I'd like to spare a rhyme
And take a bit of time
To thank [MB]
And [Spacecoyote]
for helping me with these lines. |
|
| |
I'd never write limericks for fun - as an
art-form they're much overdone. Few
things are worse than this humorous verse
- hands up, all those who gave this a bun. |
|
| |
Roses are red; violets are blue.
Roses are red; violets are blue.
Violets are blue; roses are red.
Violets are blue; roses are red.
Roses are red; violets are blue. |
|
| |
A limerick's properly lifeless
When death is perceived as a kindness
Upon reading it's words
Justice brings its rewards
'And the world becomes merciful blackness
|
|
| |
There once was a man with a task
To do what someone did ask.
His level of tedium
Was just about medium;
And he took a swig from his flask. |
|
| |
The Owl and the Cat went to sea
In a boat the colour of pea
They took some honey
And plenty of money
In a note from the Bank of GB.
|
|
| |
Up to the stars looked the Owl
And sang with a terrible howl:
"Oh Pussy my Love
We fit like a glove
But where the hell is my towel?"
|
|
| |
"You charming frood", said the Cat
"But why do you sing about that?
Oh, let us be married!
Too long we have tarried:
The towel, I know where it's at.
|
|
| |
They sailed for a year and a day
Found a towel on a Pig, coloured grey
In a Bong tree wood
It looked very good
So they decided to steal it away.
|
|
| |
"The towel is a shilling, " said Pig
"It's certainly fluffy and big!"
So they took it away
And were married next day
By a Turk who lives with the Stig
|
|
| |
Hand in hand, they sang a weird tune
And danced by the light of the moon
They dined on mince
And slices of quince
Which they ate with a strange looking spoon
|
|
| |
Sorry, thought this was the "Likeness limerick" post. |
|
| |
Some guy, from some place, I don't know,
Did something a long time ago.
It remains a big mystery
Buried in history
But so what? Who cares? Let it go. |
|
| |
There once was a lady from Guam
Who said, "now the ocean's so calm
I will swm for a lark."
She encountered a shark.
Let us now sing the 90th Psalm. |
|
| |