By John Reddin
The poet can start
With his hand on his heart
Feeling romance and spring in the air
Then he gets to a stage
Where the rest of the page
Is as blank as the poor poet's stare.
He was rhyming along
With a feel for the song
And the lyrics he'd written that day
And wouldn't you know
He got lost in the flow,
The word "Orange" had come into play
He can rhyme with a dove
And a shove and some love
But an "Orange" will make him feel maudlin.
So for hours on end
He does not have a friend
And the pace of the day is just dawdlin'.
It was "Orange" with this
And "Orange" with that
To rhyme with it just isn't fair
An idea comes along
For a change to the song
And the "Orange" is changed to a "Pear"!
