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A/N: With heartfelt apologies to the people here who know what they are doing with this genre, namely williamhill, Penelope, AuldMiseryGuts and poeteye,(and whomever else I forgot) and with deep gratitude to NitzKitty who just likes to have fun with these, I'm gonna soak one big toe in this form too and make an ass of myself in the process: this place wouldn't be this place without such behaviour...;-)
I'm told that nothing rhymes with "orange"
And not much rhymes with any fruit:
When you build your poem, it's hang or hinge.
But whether you choose to starve or binge
On rhymes galore, that point is moot:
I'm told that nothing rhymes with "orange".
I'm no rhyming poet and readers cringe.
They wish I'd take a different route:
When you build your poem, it's hang or hinge.
Passion's metaphor doesn't smoke or singe:
It burns deep red sure as Cupids are cute...
I'm told that nothing rhymes with "orange".
Whether slightly warm or hottest tinge,
Whether cornucopia or delicate flute,
When you build your poem, it's hang or hinge.
You trope it up with lace or fringe
While planting your tender poesy shoot.
When you build your poem, it's hang or hinge:
I'm told than nothing rhymes with "orange".
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Of all known institutions, I attend only two: church, in my heart, and school, in yours. Both are subject to demolition. - Lucie Adams, 2007
It is only for poetry to know how many stanzas fit into one caress. - Lucie Adams, 2008
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Ontario village
