At the Merrie Lion pub quiz last night, an extra prize was given for the best limerick.

Mine was chosen by the staff as the winner.

Down at the old Merrie Lion.

The chef had given up fryin'.

With an almighty shout.

Daphne threw him right out, 

And off down the road he ran cryin'.

Snow Day

White snow falls.

Softly, quietly.

Feathery tufts of frozen water,

Drifting slowly, without a sound,

Landing silently, on the stone cold ground.

Fluffy white softness.

Builds up, piles up.

Mini hills of accumulating ice.

Mounds of fun for the morning children.

Heaps of frustration for the morning motorist.

Rising sun.

Glitters, sparkles.

Diamonds of light on pristine snow.

A new landscape revealed in the dawn,

Dotted and lined by hoof, claw, and paw.

Warming day.

Drips and drops.

Frozen water unfreezing briefly.

Running rivulets, puddles, and streams.

Icy torrents filling gutters and ditches.

Setting sun.

Orange and slate grey sky.

Stars leap out of the growing darkness.

Torrents slow, and icicles grow.

Icy stillness grips the long night.

Paul A Grant

December 2013