Ninety Nine

This is the penultimate day! How did that happen?

Anyway, I thought, since tomorrow's limerick will probably end up being something about it being the last one, I'd do something a bit different for the ninety-ninth instead. Therefore, I sat up for half the night cutting letters out of old newspapers. As you do.

I realise that might not be readable. I couldn't read it once my eyes had gone all blurry (who knew it'd end up being true?). So what it says is:

For kidnappers - also some spies -

There's a problem you don't realise.

The notes that they leave

Offer them no reprieve.

Cutting letters out gives them cross eyes.

A lesson for us all...

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