When NASA first sent up the Hubble
The blasted thing kept seeing double
To arrange a rebuttal
Brave men in a shuttle
Went up there and sorted the trouble
While her mother was wrist-deep in soap,
A child with a voice full of hope
Asked, “If it’s no trouble
Can you blow me bubble?”
Her mother said, “Go ask the Pope!”
The child thought her mum was referring
To the Papacy, known as unerring.
That the Bishop of Rome
Should trouble their home,
Is an outcome she was not inferring.
A Pope came – ‘twas Dave from the quarry
Turned up in a herfing great lorry
Not bringing her trouble,
Just a truckload of rubble
“Ten quid,” he said, “or you’ll be sorry”
The mum said, “In here on the double
But first you must shave off your stubble.
I don’t like your tenor
But you do look like Ben Hur [groan]
So I’ll thank you quite well for your trouble.”
…and the child never did get her bubble
This week's challenge at esthernewtonblog.wordpress.com asked for a limerick featuring the word trouble.