There was a short man from North Ealing
Whose habits were not that appealing
He would scratch at his arse
Till the itching had passed
And then flick up the flakes at the ceiling
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your limericks are great in the sense that they reveal the funny bone of the human nature. Entire imagery comes alive before our eyes and is quite enjoyable. Thanks, Phil.