A poet who went on a cruise,
Discovered he’d mislaid his muse
‘My efforts at verse,
Are just bad or worse,
It must be indulgence and booze.
A composer who lost a chord
Decided to fall on his sword
‘All is discordant,
Sad and despondent,
My swan song I’ll play on keyboard.
A gardener peered at the rain
And said, ‘Oh this is a pain.
The weeds are waist high,
Dark clouds in the sky,
And the storm’s beginning again.’
I’m lost, I’ve forgotten the way
I could stay in this maze all the day.
The hedge is too high
I can see only sky
It’s a game I don’t want to play.
A cleaner who lost her duster
Went reeling, all of a fluster.
She whipped off her panties
Worked without undies
And polished till all was a-lustre.
A seamstress who lost all her pins
Said, ‘It’s because of my sins.
If I give sex a miss,
Don’t go on the piss,
They’ll turn up in one of my bins.
Limericks are easy to write
But the rhythm must be just right.
Rhymes can be askew,
Words chosen are few,
And the meaning suitably trite.