Two Edward Gorey Limericks


To his club-footed child said Lord Stipple,
As he poured his post-prandial tipple:
"Your mother's behaviour
Gave pain to Our Saviour
And that's why He made you a cripple."

Each night father fills me with dread
When he sits on the foot of my bed;
I don't mind that he speaks
In gibbers and squeaks
But for seventeen years he's been dead.