For Ang (Angie)
If I write of orange, the fruit,
And know there are no rhymes
For that cursed word, the poet’s bane,
I know frustration’s times.
When of color orange I write,
The problem still occurs.
It’s irritating to a bard,
Like sitting on some burrs.
And so you’ll notice my neat trick
Above, I put the orange
Within the line, not at the end –
Except when it’s for Ang.
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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.
The Bard on the Hill 
I like this, very clever! You know, this reminds me that we should have more fun with words.
Somehow, I just can’t keep from it. 🙂
Looks like you had some fun with this one Dennis…😊
I did and my greatest hope is that I passed some of the fun along.
I wonder how many of us have succumbed to the urge to make a poem about that pesky word!! This one certainly tickled my funnybone. 🙂
I can’t remember now what triggered me to write it, if I had the end before I began or not. At least I have the poem down on “paper” so that it won’t disappear into thing air like the cause. 🙂
Good one Dennis. I wonder which came first – the fruit or the colour?
The fruit was created and then the naming of it and the color. Maybe Adam named both at the same moment. 🙂 I do know that the chicken came before the egg. 🙂
Oh, this is great–I love it! (Thanks for the tip!)