Hi. Welcome to this dusty and little
cobwebbed corner of the world wide sandbox;
where over a mote, the smallest tittle,
petulant kids throw sand and shout: “A pox!
A pox on your nose, and your rump to boot!”
A boot to their rumps and no cakes of chocs.
Be it sand in eye, or mouth filled with foot,
our rash words sadly are oft overlooked:
Beware splinters and logs in eyes take root.
Blind to our pride, Charon’s boat ride soon booked,
a one-way ticket to warm climes and sand,
of fire and brimstone, our rumps well-cooked.
Humbled and broken, and with hat in hand,
mumbled sorries – to reconcile we seek.
“Forgive”, the highest virtue in the land,
The earth, and all happiness, to the meek.
(Mostly-iambic decasyllabic rubric in terza rima pattern a la Dante.)
An irreverent limerick in tercet rime-r,
and in irredentistic not-so-iambic pentameter.
First cloddishly posted in this comment hither.
(Above is a 12/16/12 syllabic intro with a purring outer. Ha, I’m losing my edge. Literally.)