As I was looking through various folders and notebooks yesterday, I found a newspaper clipping that I had tucked inside the pocket of the spiral notebook I take along on trips. It aptly explains the initial problem I had with the limerick as a form of poetry.
The limerick is fertive and mean;
You must keep her in close quarantine
Or she sneaks to the slum
And promptly becomes
Disorderly, drunk, and obscene.
However, I did use a limerick when I was in Nicaragua to engage one of my teachers who was estranged from his parents.
St. Augustine thought he had found
The sin by which mankind is bound
"It was not," so said he,
"The fruit on the tree,
But the lust of the pair on the ground."
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