Time to give folks a haven from the campaigns or the Olympics or whatever may be chafing their chaps.
Come, soothe your sulking cerebrum by creating long, languid, lush limericks.
Well, long doesn’t really work, except to make the previous line sound really purdy. Course, if someone wants to take on the Epic Limerick (minimum eight stanzas), be our guest.
No rules here (tho’ it’da be nice if things would scan well . . .).
Upon a midnight, dark and dreary,
I pondered: “Why am I so weary?”
When in flew a bird
With comforting word.
Quoth Raven: “Don’t worry - be cheery!”
I wonder how that would work in trochaic tetrameter?