My favourite unrhyming limerick: ‘There was a young man from Melbourne/ Who was hit on the head by a wombat./ When asked, “Did it hurt?”/ He said, “Not at all,/ You can do it again if you like.’ What about the wombat? How did Dante Gabriel Rossetti take delivery of wombats? His backyard zoo in Chelsea included the marsupial. Drugged up and otherwhere, DG’s zoological knowledge wasn’t equal to his artistic. The wombats died in London. Everybody loves wombats, it’s universal. They’re muddleheaded. But there’s a disconnect. They’re not muddleheaded. Only April, and we see the planet like a wombat.
Mrs Morris and the Wombat, by DG Rossetti