There once were six children all whining
In spite of their mother’s insane crying
That they should all stop
Before she went pop
Dissolving into a vague gray shadow of herself………..
I’ve had this stupid non limerick stuck in my head for two years and I can’t finish it or make it into anything. It just rattles around there in the back of my mind. But its a little bit better than Elphine’s terrible mother’s day poem.
Poppies are red.
Marigolds are orange.
Mothers are sweet.
And so are you.
“Nothing rhymes with ‘orange'” I shouted, after laughing for a while. “Also, Marigolds can be yellow. Try”
Poppies are red.
Marigolds are yellow.
Mothers are sweet.
I’m wishing I had jello….
I’m feeling kind of mellow….
My voice is a kind of bellow….
I knew of a little fellow….
No use. I’m going to go fold laundry.
Pip Pip!