I began a poem with colors, for fun,
Red, Blue, Green and even Lime
But when I came to that awful one
Which we all know has no rhyme
I despaired in anguish, and became morose
Twisted my hair and ground my teeth
But nothing came up not even close
So a new word to the world I now bequeath
A word to describe what I feel
When I can’t find a word to rhyme with orange
Sadness and worry the poem won’t appeal
Feel that way? You’re ‘morange!”
And once you’ve discovered this wonderful trick
You’ll shout, hoot and holler – and finish your verse
And pass on to others the word, for you know
You’re no longer morange -- so it could be worse.
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