There once was a poet in Someplace
Who was a bit all over the place:
Brain scattered here and there,
Grey matter everywhere;
But, she at least managed to save some face!
There was a policeman in Someplace
Hard on the heels of his case
His culprit was there
His gaze met her stare
As she kept with the mortician’s pace.
There was a mortician in Someplace
His patient looked done by a mace
But just a gunshot
More often than not
And someone’s left cleaning the place.
There was someone’s sister in Someplace
Whose tears streamed on down her face
Somebody told her
It wasn’t murder
Her sister was done with this place.
I had started this to make fun of myself. It was to be just a little, self-mocking limerick. Then it flowed into a morbid pun, and from there it became it’s own, more serious, story…