While an appreciator of limericks, I–quite simply–suck at them. I can never get the saucy air, the lilt that carries the reader along line to line hanging off the side of the horse, as it were. But I need to write one so let’s see what nastiness ensues. Since this blog is generally dealing with meditation, Qi, Taoist themes, I’m going for a very nonliteral Buddhist limerick.
There once was a young monk from Jaipur
With robes such bright orange you would die for.
But they needed a clean
And while in the machine
Turned so pink, he was now just an eyesore.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.