A Limerick

On the Mabinogion. Very Slight

I

One day he said he could fly

Who pondered what’s what at Delphi,

His fuss for this fancy? Cuchulain. Cuchulain.

It chid’m, to an inch of his life. But why?

II

His rhymes grotesque

Without hope of defense.

A miserable stink, afloat in the sink,

Being mindless, would endlessly digress.

III

In the sink with the dishes

He felt deep for the fishes,

No lower the Styx can he sink.

Find a shrink! to care for his contrition!