“Tobacco Tale.” An eleven-part limerick.
A leprechaun slowly awoke
And picked up his pipe for a smoke
“But where’s my tobac?
This must be a practical joke!”
The leprechaun thought that he knew
The trickster, and cried, “I’ll show you!”
But then he saw smoke
And heard tiny folk
Palavering deep in a shoe
They all spoke an ancient shoe tongue
And none of them looked very young
But one was quite old
And clearly controlled
The shoe-home whose praise they all sung
With voice full of leprechaun ire
The elf-cobbler cried, “I’ll set fire
To shoelace and heel
And make you my meal
Or my name’s not Clancy O’Dwyer!”
The lady who lived in the shoe
Fired back, “I’ve a warning for you!
My kids smell like trash
Their flesh tastes like ash
And mine is too rotten to chew!
“May we please be granted one wish?
Don’t put our burnt crumbs on a dish!
But in this shoe put
Your leprechaun foot…
We’d rather go out with a squish!”
The leprechaun sighed, “See this pipe?
Like you, I’m the pipe smoking type
You’ve got my tobac
And I want it back
Go find someone else’s to swipe!”
The leprechaun twisted his beard
It goes without saying he feared
That little was left
Of that morning’s theft
Perhaps it had all disappeared!
In fact, the tobac was half gone
For they had been smoking since dawn
The old lady tugged
On her pipe and shrugged,
“We can’t let this crisis drag on…
“I have a few gold coins to spend
In your crock I’ll put them, my friend…
This gold you may keep
And while you’re asleep
We’ll stuff your pipe with the best blend.”
When out of his bed he next rolled
The leprechaun found he’d been told
A great shoe-folk lie
Those devils were sly
They’d stolen his black pot of gold!
© 2014 David E. Miller