The Problem with an Orange

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I know what will easily rhyme with a duck.

It’s not what you think… it’s good luck!

And when I ponder a horse and a cart,

I always conclude with the life of Mozart.

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I can sing a dirge of war in the trench,

pray for a tramp on a cold, lonely bench,

tell of sunrise on Mount Popocatepetl

and laugh at the lady who sat on a nettle.

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I’ll shout for the life of a frog in a ditch,

extol the kick of a ball on a pitch,

then sing a song of the flight of a bird,

and scream at the horror of wolves in a herd.

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I can play the music of beautiful Earth,

smile at the wonder of babies at birth,

strum ballads for lovers who swear to be true,

and boast of a carrot, one summer I grew.

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But try as I might, and I’ve put up a fight

through all of the night without a respite.

I thought and I fought, but then I was fraught

for nothing will rhyme with an orange.