There once was a fellow named Gripp.
He let poems roll over his lip.
With the Kraut in his genes
he has more than the means
to write stanzas at fast-moving clip.
On the day of his long ago birth
when he made his debut on this earth
he was talking in mime
but considering rhyme
for the future, those poems of worth.
Andy's certainly a-ok, I'd say, Herbs. Happy returns from me as well, Andy. Warmest regards to both of you, Gina.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
does this poem contain satire or limerick?