There was a young woman in Ghent...

My friend RoxAnn is in Europe. Among other things she is checking out her roots in Belgium. I don't know the country, having only passed through multiple times on the train traveling from Paris to Amsterdam and back.

My grandfather escaped his pursuers after killing the Cossack officer and ended up in Antwerp, where he went to electrical school at Siemens but that is an entirely different story for another day.

Anyway she sent these pictures over from Ghent this morning.

And they pretty much reinforce the only thing I remember about my traverse through Belgium's passageways, graffiti.

I am sure that it is a wonderful country, full of charms and delight, I just have never taken the time to discover it yet.

*

But my second thought was about limerick. Not Ireland, the poem form.

I could come up with a really bawdy limerick about Ghent, you know the man who was so big he was bent and all that... Think Nantucket. Or there once was a fellow named Enis.

We haven't done limericks in a long time, the rebuttal and comment portion of the blog sort of going on hiatus for the last eight years or so. 

Just a trickle now, a shadow of its former self. People moved away, could no longer stand me or got religion.

But as you know, if I am forced to do a monologue I can do so.

Anyway I haven't composed a limerick in a long time so here goes. For my conservative political friends.

There once was a native named Warren
whose etymology turned out to be foreign
I said, Pocohantas my dear
it is perfectly clear
your war whoops were political whorin'.

You got anything?