There once was a fog called Finnian’sAbout which were many opinions.Swallowed up by its hazeYou might wander for daysAnd, once out, you’d never go in again.
The was an old lady named Spinner,Knit from dawn ‘til late after dinner.People said, "There’s no doubt,When her yarn’s all run out,Populations grow marginally thinner."
My brains came all to a simmer quick,With thought of yet a new limerick,, Then considered regardShowed the form too too hard:Twisting such rhymes made my innards sick.
Around the old knitter they’d sit, caring nothing for gauge or for fit,winding ball, wrapping skein,observing the rain,and looking aboutensuring balls didn’t run out,empty needles leading to pain
Ida No over 9 years ago
“I met a man who wasn’t there.Because Ol’ Lady Spinner had left her chair.Her knitting she’d set asideSo some man from Snobonquit just up and died."
carollay creator over 9 years ago
And the blue ribbon for Murder-y poetry goes to nwdryad!
William Glass over 9 years ago
There once was a fog called Finnian’sAbout which were many opinions.Swallowed up by its hazeYou might wander for daysAnd, once out, you’d never go in again.
William Glass over 9 years ago
The was an old lady named Spinner,Knit from dawn ‘til late after dinner.People said, "There’s no doubt,When her yarn’s all run out,Populations grow marginally thinner."
William Glass over 9 years ago
My brains came all to a simmer quick,With thought of yet a new limerick,, Then considered regardShowed the form too too hard:Twisting such rhymes made my innards sick.
kattbailey over 9 years ago
Around the old knitter they’d sit, caring nothing for gauge or for fit,winding ball, wrapping skein,observing the rain,and looking aboutensuring balls didn’t run out,empty needles leading to pain
William Glass over 9 years ago
@nwdryadThank you ms dryad (or may I call you nw?); your comments are always such day-brighteners.