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