The weather gives me static cling.
My hair stands on end,
And shocks I do send.
It's only ten weeks more 'til spring.
Students there are I can't reach
No matter how smartly I teach.
It makes me quite sad
And a little bit mad
That some don't know the parts of speech.
Correcting can make me quite tired,
Although late at night I feel wired.
The list in my head
Keeps me up, not in bed.
I certainly hope I'm not fired.
This is a bad limerick poem
I wrote while sitting at home.
I'd hope it be gold -
It's silver, I'm told -
But I think it looks more like chrome.
Creating this ditty in rhyme.
It's not very good
(I'd write if I could).
I'll contemplate gin with a lime.
