Ms Scarlett Said:

My limericks are lacking oration.
My poetry lacks inspiration,
But, bearing in mind
A donkey’s behind,
Remember my old dissertation.

I replied:

Your tale of a donkey’s behind
Brings indelible image to mind.
This can’t be repaired —
It’s clearly ass^2
In our poesy mucho maligned.

Then the talented Ms Scarlett wrote:

There once was a Combs named Alan B.
Who wished to go down in infamy,
For the silliest pun.
(Ain’t we got fun?)
He hoped all his life for epiphany.

To which I was forced to reply:

Clearly a strange word. Alas!
We didn’t have that in my class.
So, I asked my dear granny,
“What is epiphany?”
And she said, “Dear, it means up your ass!”

Oh, Alan, you do so misquote me,
Please, go get yourself a chipotle.
(With apologies to the mammas,
Please notice all my commas),
And stuff it somewhere, quite remotely.

(Sorry, I could not help myself)