Three Limericks - Poem by Herbert Nehrlich
There once was a poet named Stu,
he would write 'til his fingers turned blue.
When he searched for a rhyme
he committed a crime,
they said only free-versing for you.
In the greatest of rivers, the Nile
lived a six meter crocodile.
A reptilian purist
he would eat only tourists
you could tell when he had, by his smile.
My great uncle Dan is no more
he would sleep standing up and would snore.
With his mouth open wide
a huge roach crawled inside
and it left through the open back door.
Comments about Three Limericks by Herbert Nehrlich
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You