Some chap had a beautiful wife.
She had been the light of his life.
She vanished one day;
how and why none could say.
But he had to wipe blood from a knife.
Starward
Author's Notes/Comments:
Due to being on a walker, with semiparalysis and nerve damage in my legs and feet, my pace to move from my room to the "necessary" room is rather slow. On the return trip, as I walked through the corridor, this little poem came to me. The laptop took longer to start up than the poem did to form.
Eerie limerick, indeed. Any
Eerie limerick, indeed. Any metaphorical connection to your current condition? Wishing you all the best, as always.
Thank you for the comment,
Thank you for the comment, and for the good wish. No metaphorical connection, it really started as a response to the skewed rhythm of how I move on the walker. From where I sit to the bathroom is kind of a long walk, and the return is usually the more difficult part of the round trip.
J-Called
You're welcome, and I see. A
You're welcome, and I see. A way to pass and make good of the difficult time. Many a historical irishman would approve, I imagine.
Thank you, sir.
Thank you, sir.
J-Called
Certainly.
Certainly.