Limericks About The Neighbours Upstairs

O’er my roof lives I know not who,

Their clamors and quiets I often pursue.

I hear none speak,

But their furniture doth creak,

I wonder what it is they do.

Sundown beckons the racket above,

Is it a bed, a table, or a hefty stove?

Perhaps it’s space they need,

Like an astronaut’s creed,

To bring forth a dwelling they love.

Picture two inclined to dance,

This their things impede, perchance.

So they cast it aside,

Fall in each other’s stride,

And around their chamber they prance.

Or maybe tis but a child who wants to skip

And frolic around as an iridescent blip.

To make a fantasy world,

Their room must unfurl,

For reality they do not chuse to grip.

Whatever it is, truth be told,

Ignorance I ought to value as gold.

For any explanation

Will lead to no jubilation,

My mind’s eye is, anyhow, more bold!

To Be Anything At All