Limericks

Don’t trust the exec who will say,

“We bomb for a brighter bouquet.

A crater or two

And peace will break through—

It’s gardening . . , just the hard way.”

A general, polished and neat,

Declared from a taxpayer seat,

“To silence the drums,

We’ll rattle our guns—

It’s rhythm with slightly more heat.”

They bombed for a calmer terrain,

Insisting it’s perfectly sane.

“If quiet you seek,

Explode for a week—

Then no one will argue again.”