Impossible

For years I’ve heard there isn’t any rhyme
for “orange,” but it hasn’t made me groan.
The word I want to use, time after time,
is “month,” and I’m afraid it stands alone
without the right to end a metered line
in any form of English-language poem.
If only we used “mois” or “mes” or “mese,”
composing this would make me feel less crazy.

(Ottava Rima)

This entry was posted in Language, Poetry, Writing and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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