Waste Land Limericks

I

In April one seldom feels cheerful;

Dry stones, sun and dust make me fearful;

Clairvoyantes distress me,

Commuters depress me –

Met Stetson and gave him an earful.

II

She sat on a mighty fine chair,

Sparks flew as she tidied her hair;

She asks many questions,

I make few suggestions –

Bad as Albert and Lil – what a pair!

III

The Thames runs, bones rattle, rats creep;

Tiresias fancies a peep –

A typist is laid,

A record is played –

Wei la la. After this it gets deep.

IV

A Phoenician called Phlebas forgot

About birds and his business – the lot,

Which is no surprise,

Since he’d met his demise

And been left in the ocean to rot.

V

No water. Dry rocks and dry throats,

Then thunder, a shower of quotes

From the Sanskrit and Dante.

Da. Damyata. Shantih.

I hope you’ll make sense of the notes.