Sunday, November 1, 2015

1883. Well, fugit

It's November.  My!  How this year's flown
I would guess that I am not alone
In my feeling that time
Flies the most "past one's prime"
And I'm definitely in that zone.

1 comment:

  1. They say TIME flies when you're having fun
    So that is what you must have done
    You've used all your time
    Writing lim'ricks and rhyme
    And perfecting a thing called the pun.

    An unfulfilled life may seem wrong
    But your poems keep our funnybones strong
    I don't have a bucket list
    Hell, but my fuck it list
    Stretches at least a mile long.

    I ought to be smacked on the bean
    My writing is getting obscene
    I grasp and I grope
    For a big bar of soap
    Just to wash out my mouth squeaky clean.

    (So if you would kindly pour some of your red ink [set aside for special occasions] onto my second limerick, then fragile minds may be promptly forewarned of impending profane danger. Thank you, Mr. Tech-savvy guy!)