Limericks Poem by Roy Ballard

Whatever you're writing is prose
or it's verse; it depends how it flows.
If it rings like a bell
then it's music as well
which is terribly hard to compose.

You must think and then carefully weigh
every word lest your thoughts go astray.
‘But', she said with a wink,
‘I don't know what I think
till I've seen what I happened to say'.

A troubled young man said, 'I swear
there is nothing to breathe, only air
and to eat: only food
so I go about nude,
but for clothes I have nothing to wear'.

Of all chagrin I'm sure that the worst
is the rival in love who comes first.
Though a colleague in crime
might be good for a time
the love of my lover is cursed.

What is mind? Of small matter, I find.
What is matter? Just a word, never mind
but a flourishing liver
is a generous giver
of comfort and joy unconfined.

‘Let us sin, it is really all right',
said the Devil. My answer is, ‘Quite!
Though I try to sin more
Milton's Unchanging Law
keeps on putting me into a fright'.

It is good to watch some great affair,
gaze on death as it comes through the air.
It is sweet to see battle,
to hear teeth and bones rattle
but I like to be not really there.