Rhyme Scheme Poem

Frozen Puddle                                             

By Max Maclay

Crystal planes across the ground

Where dirty puddles once were found.

How it happened, I don’t know,

But I investigate, with my toe.

A tiny sound, hairline crack,

Leads to an all-out attack.

Now I’m cold, full of regret

Because my foot is sopping wet.

Silly and Libelous Limerick

There was a curly-haired lass from Maine

Whose language was very profane

The kids rang a bell

Every time she said, “Hell,”

Or other words in that domain