He once had a goose that laid some eggs, of gold each were the same — until his true love hoped to see from where the gold all came. But geese are good with warning calls and since he gave her seven they raised th’alarm when their time came to be dispatch’d to heaven.
To celebrate the Saviour’s birth He gave to her a stick in earth. As promised to his love most true A tree from that bare stick soon grew And pears did from its branches form To show his love for her stayed warm.
But she was troubled when she heard him promise he’d give her the bird…
Thank heavens for Zoom!
Proof against gloom!
Where’d we be
without our TV?
And social media
has never been needier
on laptops and phones,
replacement for drones
for spying on friends,
for gossip, and trends.
When plague years are done
where will we find fun?
Today’s coronaverse is brought to you by the letter Z.
The virus from outside, just like a trojan horse,
attacks the victim’s inside, violates our very source,
though they try their very damnedest to repel it,
our bodies have their work cut out just trying to expel it.
The chronicles of nausea, vomit, diarrhea,
demonstrate a failure to keep clear
of the dread coronavirus,
an illness sent to try us.
Symptoms gastrointestinal —
in the analysis somewhat final —
is reported by 1 in 10 or 20
women and men: queasiness aplenty.
Today’s coronaverse was brought to you by the letter N.
That group who are stridently antivax?
Their hatred of jabs mounts up to the max.
They say “No-one knows just what naughtiness goes
into vaccines;” but note, they are somewhat lax
when it comes to what food in their belly
they have put; one I asked if he’d tell, he
said “Real finger-lickin’, that chlorine-filled chicken,”
and believed all they said, on the telly,
and online: “See, you can’t explain away,”
he said, “vaccine harm to our DNA;
we must all get to grips with effects microchips…” Urgh — why can’t anyone take all this pain away?
Coronaverse: an alphabet of terms related to Covid-19. Tomorrow brings us the letter B.
You know those two hobbits called Baggins? Their trips only came after naggings from Gandalf the wizard. They wandered through blizzard and mines, then they drank loads of flagons. Now, one found a ring of great power, and one found his way to a tower to bring down a Dark Lord, or perish in Mordor; a deed which caused Sauron to glower.
There’s sadness, adventure and mirth in the lands all around Middle Earth. Right in the middle’s what’s won with some riddles: a magical ring of great worth.
Now a saga is something quite serious, potentous, designed to quite weary us. A limerick’s light, reputedly trite, unsuited to epics imperious. So a story of hobbits, and wizards, and elves, and matters a saga digs down to and delves is no topic for limerick, it’s pointless to mimic. If you want such a tale you must write it yourselves!
It’s New Year’s Eve. So long, and thanks
for all the luscious puns and games,
for health reports, and news of pranks
you’ve played, and all the names
you’ve called your other half,
old whatsit… It’s been quite a laugh.
And so, as we see out this year,
it’s cheers to you! And mine’s a beer.