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.


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