Compassion we practice these days,
or that is one usual phase.
I notice your screaming
and quickly am deeming
your life in some need of a daze.

Some folk look stupendous in black,
while others may seem (quite) to lack.
I find I look better
when some Irish setter
has taught me to sit on a tack.

There once were a boy and bright girl --
both, fond of the concept of pearl.
From time to new season
each youthful unreason
resembled some full kinds of swirl.

I sense that the senses of nerves
develop a sorrow that swerves.
In certain examples
thrive sweet, sweet, sweet samples
that threaten to brighten our verves.

I'm OUT of my senses most days
('least those that feature sunrays)
My senses are finth
Each Feb. twenty-ninth
The rest of the year is a craze

Your senses and his seem to jibe
in ways that could please any tribe.
In fact, you have motions
that foster whole oceans
of thought more acute than a kibe.

Huge forests when hit by hot bombs
will somewhat retain their aplombs.
The secret of lasting
involves how much fasting
occurs at rich splintery proms.

Once radium pertly asked radon
To find the fourth-fifths of an aeon
Uranium bores?
Saved only by Coors
And epochs and eras are tradin'

My answers due diligence lack
My frick likeways lacks any frack
My forest is freely
Bereft of its treely
And I break my back building my shack

Each diligent answer surmises
that breath always has deep disguises.
A forest presents
a world that consents
to forces as shallow as prizes.

The radium said to the salt,
"What causes the torment to halt?"
The salt shook an ankle
and slowly said, "Rankle
my forces, you fathomless fault!"

Your endless insistence on reason
resembles some rich form of treason.
You surely must sense
that life's too immense,
and that only grief stays in season.

My voice is returning again,
and, now, I'm a man among men.
I sit in my corner
and look far forlorner
while sounding as pert as a hen.

Beneath every dream, the dark looks
produce the great grace found in books.
The ceilings are peeling
a paper that's kneeling
and sending a story that crooks.

The credit I give you for breathing
won't minimize much of your seething.
You want to be told
that you are such gold
as teaches each angel fine teething.

As limerick penning becomes
demanding I find I'm all thumbs.
When seemingly easy,
such action turns sleazy --
as all of me blithely rehums.

My fading first lim'rick of year
Is bound to fade FAST, so I fear:
With universe-alities
Assorted calamities
And peerages not so damn peer

Reducing my hopes hasn't made
my selves be unputrefied jade.
The universe ever
is perfect endeavor,
the kind that will fade and refade.

The weather indeed has its fashions
of mirroring all human passions.
From coolness to hotness
a day can be shotness
in search of sweet life, which fate rations.

The weather is playing the fool
This summer's incredibly cool
Floods are a danger
The sun is a stranger
Thick clouds have conquered and rule.

Assorted responses were given
to how certain looks were ill-shaven.
An ardent, new voice
may fashion a case
implying that sweets are an oven.

You kindle the moon, stars, and sun
by speaking of how you've had fun.
When waxing less shiny
you look like some spiny
example of Nature's last gun.

The verities spoken by man
reveal an unbeatable plan.
An upshot eternal
is something infernal
whose strengths form a "catch-if-catch-can."

However we follow a season,
life somehow produces no reason.
Our ultimate glimpse
soon fastens on blimps
whose everyday purpose is treason.

Insightful are all my fine friends,
for they and I foster fine trends.
My friends may slay glee
in vast parts of me,
but such disrepair quickly mends.