LIMERICKS.

(I don't know if my grandmother wrote these or not, but they are typed and handwritten in her three-ring black binder that I'm getting all this stuff out of. And no I'm not making it up and just saying that my grandmother wrote it but I bet that's what some of you may be thinking. One day someone will go through MY notebooks and put some (or many) of MY poems on here and you'll see the difference. Maybe it will even be me. Lord knows we'll have time enough to do such, all locked up in sequestration as we are. I wrote "The Pig of the Rising Sun" poem and "Ode to the Forgotten Babysitter," and they are NOTHING LIKE my grandmother's poems. NOTHING. LIKE.)

There was a young girl from Quebec

Who loved to excessively neck.

When caught with a fop

By a cop who said, "Stop,

You are going too fast!" she said, "Heck!"

There was a young man from Capri

Whose ideas were queer as could be.

He played every night

And slept when 'twas light

In a next that he made in a tree.

The Hitlers and Mussolinis

We Americans think are real meanies

We can't wish them well

'Cause they'd give us hell

We think that they're cracked in their beanies.

There lived an old woman of Spain

In that northernmost state we call Maine.

In the summer 'twas hot

In the winter 'twas not

So she moved to the Middle West Plain.

A lady who visited Pells

Was warned by the kind Dr. Fells:

"Dear lady, don't try

In this town to fly high

'Cause the gossips do talk like hell's bells!"

There was a swell fellow from France

Whose life was a song and a dance.

He looked like a sissy

And walked rather prissy,

He also wore lace on his pants.

(Well now Grandmama that's just flat homophobic of you.)

(Well she had Venus in Aries, she was a little rude on occasion I suppose.)