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TO THE COSMIC SEEKERS, AND PIOUS WITH NO DOUBT,
MAYBE THE ANSWER, OUR BRAIN NOT DESIGNED TO FIGURE IT OUT.
COLLECTIVELY WHAT OUR BRAINS HAVE ACCOMPLISHED NO LESS THAN MYTHIC.
WHAT THEY CAN DREAM, MAY DWELL ONLY IN THE REALM OF THE MYSTIC.
AN AWKWARD FIRST KISS, UNDER THE PORCH LIGHT,
THE COMEBACK KISS, REMEMBERED ALL NIGHT.
HERE'S TO THE CLEVER SHEEP HERDERS OF THE ISLE OF ERIN,
WITH MANY A SHEEP, BUT FOR FENCING BARREN.
THEY PAINT THE BREAST OF THEIR RAMS IN COLORFUL HUES,
THEN IN A FEW DAYS, CHECK THE RUMPS OF THE EWES.
TO SEE WITH WHOM, THE LAMBS THEY'LL BE A SHAR'IN.
Happy St Patrick's to all.
What did the Irishman say to the fly he pinned on the rim of his pint of stout. SPIT IT OUT !, SPIT IT OUT! Special thanks to our tour guide Nell for the explanation and inspiration for the limerick and bus driver Donald for the joke.
HERE I SET A LITTLE PERTURBED,
MY POEM FINISHED, EXCEPT FOR
THE FINAL WORD.
SO I LOOK INWARD, SEARCHING AROUND,
KICKING UP ADJECTIVES, ADVERBS, AND THE OCCASIONAL NOUN.
THERE IT IS, IT LOOKS JUST RIGHT,
SO I GRAB IT, AND TO MY PAPER I WRITE.
YES I THINK, I'VE FOUND IT THIS TIME,
BUT NO MATTER HOW I TRY, IT JUST DOESN'T RHYME.
ALARMED, I'M GETTING NEAR THE BOTTOM OF MY LIST.
COULD IT BE THE FINAL WORD JUST DOESN'T EXIST?
FEELING LOST FOR THE WORD,BEGINNING TO DESPAIR.
THEN OUT OF NOWHERE, IT'S JUST THERE!
FINALLY OVER, WRITTEN AND PENNED.
AFTER FINDING THAT FINAL WORD THE "END".
EVERY DAY WE TREAD TOWARD OUR MORTAL ENDING,
WILL WE SIMPLY BE GONE, OR STARTING OUR NEW BEGINNING.
IS THERE A CHEQUE TO BE DETERMINED SAINT OR SINNER,
OR THE NEXT COURSE, IN A LIFE EXTENDING DINNER.
WILL WE KNOW THE HEAT OF HELL, OR THAT GARDEN OF ADAM'S.
OR SIMPLY REJOIN THE UNIVERSE AS BILLIONS OF ATOMS.
Unfortunately "Cs" look like an "A",
after the "Fs" have their say.
SO MANY HAVE COME BEFORE MY TIME,
           TO THIS KNOWLEDGE, I MUST RESIGN,
                      AN ORIGINAL THOUGHT, WILL NEVER BE MINE.
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