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  • Writer's pictureDillon Hamilton

'Leven Limericks

He kicked rocks on the mountain road,

Found a velvet band not likely en vogue,

It was Satan's brand of black,

Near a thief's track,

He now carries a debt he ne'er owed.

He told stories and lies by the ten's,

Pulled from bucket loads, barrels, and bins,

A noble craft he refined,

Thankful for Divine,

Care of his skill though he sins.

Two friends with memories unclear,

Thought and conversed over beer,

Recited beloved verse,

Stumbled upon the curse,

That their friendship was only veneer.

A farmer grimaced at the wood,

Thought a new field would do him good,

He lit a dry match,

near his grain patch,

Grain burned and he cried where he stood.

There was a brewer who hated beer,

Drinkers ne'er drank, only gave jeer,

Given to spiced rum,

Remained on his bum,

Gave customers quality snark and sneer.

A jack rabbit with ears lame and bent,

Bitter he was with anger pent,

When he sprinted they stood,

Not to his good,

He sprinted until legs and life were spent.

Wig-wearer who called for all violence,

To visit those he deemed tyrants,

Chaos spread,

Lost his head,

Robespierre's voice stay in your silence.

A fruit tree bore enough to borrow,

Thieves lined up in a long row,

To pluck and tear,

Boughs bare,

The owner left gawking in sorrow.

There was a rider who hated his horse,

A gelding that constantly wandered off course,

Over hills they would roll,

Missing each toll,

For which the rider felt no remorse.

There was a toddler who had grown,

Weighing one-fourth and fourteen stone,

By two, like a tree,

Six foot three,

But, he still wasn't man of his home.

There was a couple who did enjoy,

An ornery plot and mischievous ploy,

They planned a prank,

On a bank,

Prison dinners hold no joy.

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