At the beginning, yes, all of my words
Sound like I'm blissfully singing with birds
They flow from my lips
'til unforseen, a balance tips
And the last words of my rhymes are just turds
A limerick, by any other name
Would prob'ly feel all too darn tame
You might call it "high-ku"
But then I'd say, "bless you!"
We all sneeze, don't act all so ashamed
A trio of surly, coarse men
Were debating on how to raise hens
One said, "keep them penned"
Another said, "it depends"
And the third of them simply broke wind
A boullion cube lodged in my broth
Bouyed near a prostrate giant moth
When I tried to complain
The waiter asked me my name
So I slipped in an old dirty cheese cloth
A limerick is easy to write
Start your scribbles and move left to right
One and Two, rhyme and meter,
Third and fourth, a little speedier
And the last, like the first, but with bite
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