We look forward to our daily dose of Language Log. Language has undone so many. This morning there’s a post on the mateless orange, for she can’t be rhymed, yet she’s not alone.
The Mateless Orange
The shelves are bare of rhymes for orange.
Not only that, but my dish is empty of porridge.
You’ve heard that girl before, right?
Orange is popular, purple not,
not even for Steven Earle.
For it’s rindlessness that’s comic.
But let me ask you something:
What the heck is this all about?
If you stop and think about it,
your head is jam-packed
with oranges,
with the curious result
that there are those who will find this an insult:
and the mateless orange rinds,
for she can’t be rhymed,
yet she’s not alone.
The Coming of the Toads 