A Limerick

 

There was a young cyclist named Joe

Was a glutton for blackberries you know;

          When he got on the scent

          To those bushes he went –

He’d show ‘em the way they should go!

 

Now this here young cyclist named Joe

Inside him the berries could stow

          Till you’d fear at first

          That he’d jolly soon burst

If he didn’t cease making them flow!

 

But a marvellous fellow was Joe

He always knew where they would grow

          And before you got there

          The bush was picked bare

And most of another, I trow.

 

But disaster was coming on Joe

His breath came laboriously slow:

          He packed himself tight –

          He ‘clocked out’ that night

And we buried him near where they grow.

 

So take heed all ye who would go

To try the same game as poor Joe

          In the fruit there’s a grub

          If it gets in your tub

You’ll hand in your checks and join Joe!

September 1925