First Aid

A rhyming dictionary is A handy little thing. My uncle, though, got tired of his And passed it on to Ring. So now, when hard up for a rhyme And when I need one quick, I save a lot of precious time By looking up the Dic.

When I must rhyme with some tough word— We’ll say, for instance, “twelve”— ’Tis then I grab my Dicky bird And find “delve,” “helve,” and “shelve.” Or if, as often is the case, I want to rhyme with “babe,” By looking in the proper place, I run on “astrolabe.”

It happens every week or so That I must rhyme with “doge.” My book advises me to go And utlize “gamboge.” And when I seek a running mate, A word to pair with “gulch,” I do not have to hesitate; I’m tipped right off to “mulch.”

Or when it’s necessary to Wind up a line with “shalt,” I find what p’rhaps is known to you, There’s such a thing as “alt.” Or when I cannot think offhand Of playmates for “cartouch,” I look into my booklet and Am introduced to “smooch.”

My rhyming Dic’s a hit with me; It really is a gem, Containing all the words there be And all the rhymes for them. But what my book neglects to tell, The thing my book leaves out, Is whattheell and whotheell To write my rhymes about.