A Savage Stroll

A Scotsman sat on a thistle,
If it was a flying missile,
He would have seen it in the air
The prickly thistle just sat there
It didn't even need to whistle.

This Scotsman's name was Jock,
Every morning at 8-o-clock
He took his puppy for a walk
Suddenly the puppy baulked
'Cos he had a shock

Something had bitten his paw,
He held it up; it was very sore,
Jock bent down to have a look
And suddenly felt very crook,
Making him fall on the floor.

He had landed on that thistle,
Which was as hard as bristle
He was too stunned to talk
They did not want to resume their walk
So he signalled to the pup with a whistle.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2022

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Baker Avatar
August 11, 2022 at 8:29 AM
Excellent Limerick poetry, Shirley. Very entertaining with a spot of humor for us. A poet friend in Texas, Bill
Hawkins Avatar
August 11, 2022 at 4:33 PM
Thank you, Bill. A little bit of silliness can brighten up your day, sometimes. I hope you are well and enjoying a peaceful day. A poet friend in South Australia, Shirley.
Leffanta Avatar
August 7, 2022 at 11:27 AM
Good thing he was in Scotland and not having a leek in Wales! Aloha!
Hawkins Avatar
August 11, 2022 at 4:37 PM
Lol! We have to be thankful for small mercies.
Hankins Avatar
August 7, 2022 at 8:49 AM
A good one, Shirley. I thoroughly enjoyed this story. A pesky thistle, eh?
Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace