There once lived a poet named George <br />near the Falls of Carnarvon Gorge. <br />He ran out of ideas <br />and to us it appears <br />that he secretly started to forge. <br /> <br />So he copied from Chaucer and Suess <br />which of course was a blatant abuse. <br />When he went to the printer <br />in the middle of winter <br />he'd manufactured his noose. <br /> <br />In the bookstore he sat, smugly signing, <br />many copies, the people were lining <br />all the streets from the park <br />until way after dark, <br />with the moon and the streetlights shining. <br /> <br />At the stroke of the midnight hour <br />from the clock of the old Limerick Tower <br />through the door wandered Suess <br />with an ancient recluse <br />and for George the whole world went sour.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/friday-is-limerick-day/
