Happy Tuesday, readers! And Happy New Year’s Eve. May it be a fun one, before the drudgery of January begins.
For today’s Poetic Post, I considered penning something profound about new beginnings and fresh starts and reflection and resetting oneself and one’s goals.
But, in the end, I decided I’d rather post a limerick about a terrible butcher, and his mince.
So here it is.
(You can read about the context for these bonkers poems here. And I promise this is the last meat-themed poem for a while. There’s been rather a few of those recently…)
Vince’s Mince
There once was a butcher called Vince,
who made the most terrible mince.
His customers, seething,
barged in on him cleaving,
and no one has spotted Vince since.
As always, thanks for reading!
Do share your favourite limerick in the comments - I’d love to discover some new ones!
Very mysterious...