In vers libre you may be as formless
As prose -- but when limericks are normless
In accent and rhythm
You can't do much with 'em
Except to say that the writer obviously misunderstood what he was
doing and is completely gormless.
On 7 Jan 2004 at 12:33, The Walkers wrote:
> I once had a friend named Joe,
> who'd guide tourists up mountains for dough.
> He'd stride through the land,
> ice axe held tight in his hand,
> and in his boot marks they'd follow.
>
> 'Til one fateful day in May,
> One led all the others astray.
> They marched through the snow,
> not knowing which way to go,
> while Jo still asleep under canvas roof lay.
>
> He kept up the search for a week,
> hoping to hear one of them speak,
> "You're getting quite near.
> Help us! We're here!",
> but silence shrouded that cold hearted peak.
>
> An avalanche had blocked up the route.
> On top, a hiker's ownerless boot.
> He had found them at last,
> buried snow deep in the pass,
> blanketed by winter's discarded suit.
>
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