There was a young man of Japan
Whose limericks never would scan.
When they asked him, Why?
He said, with a sigh,
"It's because I always try to get as many words into the last line as I possibly can."

The bulls of Bickerton Lane do graze
Upon my verdant lawn.
I hear them in the morning haze
Mooing to the dawn.

They trample all my flowered shrubs;
They crush the dainty rose.
And then they pee this giant stream
As from a garden hose.

One bright day in the middle of night
Two dead boys got up to fight

Back to back they faced each other
Pulled their swords and shot each other

If you think this tail is tall
Ask the blind man, he saw it all

Magic

Son of Job

My name is Bakare, a son of Job. The story of my father, I'm sure you
all know. A righteous man to perfection, until Satan sought his correction.

An angel of light full of wiles came to God with an evil smile.
Smite his children and you will see, Job isn't who he pretends to be.

Do as you will , as "I" allow, smite his children, goats and cows.
Burn the land til all is gone, leave his wife an empty home.

In the house, why at the plate, my brothers talked while we ate.
Storms arose, the wind doth sear. My brothers and I all a fear.

The walls came down upon our heads, left us bleeding, broken, dead.
My father told that we're gone, honored God at his home.

The story ending, Job did well, he never cussed, he never fell.
The richest man in all the land, newborn children for a better man.

I was joyful, but my life was short, as it fell before Satans fort.
Born only by God's direction, to partake in his correction?

My life was precious, had I lived, learned to love and to give
Learned to be a wise old man, walk while holding my daughters hand.

Now forgotten, completly replaced, look of happiness on his face.
More riches and rings on his hand, why I lay rotting in the sand.

Instead of for my righteous cause, children killed by blowing walls.
Servant's not serving because they're dead, all because Satan said.

Here for me will be no riches, sealed in cloth tight with stitches.
From this grave my spirit cries, you should have cussed God and died.

Kings and Princes; Lords and Earls;
It’s always reigning men.
Few exceptions where women rule,
Though some of us have the yen.

What if we changed the trend around?
Let women take the lead.
Maybe the definitive feminine touch
Is all we really need.