On the road to Galway Bay

Thursday August 1

We’re in the coach driving to Galway. On the way we passed through Limerick.

Our guide Speedy has challenged us to write a limerick before we get to Galway. The prize is a bottle of Irish whiskey.

Here’s a few I’ve knocked together on the drive. Are any good enough to win?

There was a bus driver called Gerry 

Who drove on roads steep and scary

When asked why you do it

He replied there’s nothing to it

I just never dare look in the mirror 

We took a bus tour of old Ireland 

That traveled from lowland to highland 

We saw sea, we saw lake

And not one of them fake

Some days I do wish it was my land

What a strange old bird is the pelican 

Who can hold more in his beak than his belly can

He can hold more in his beak

Than I can eat in a week

And I don’t know how in the hell ‘e can

We’re driving on roads long and winding 

Small villages we’re constantly finding 

Thatched roof and bog houses

And some potcheen wowsers 

Drink too much and it’s guaranteed blinding

We’ve been asked to compose a wee limerick 

The prize is much more than a dram of it

I can’t think of a rhyme 

And I’ll run out of time

The pressure’s so strong I might shit a brick

Our guide’s a wee chap called Speedy 

His whiskers not what I’d call weedy

On topics this and that

I’d like to share a wee chat

But in a group of this size that‘s just greedy

Hint: one I didn’t write. I was told this by my dad as a child. Guess which one.