I'm trying hard to make a rhyme; poets say it can't be done.

So now I'm sitting here with words, just having lots of fun.

Orange, Purple, Silver too don't have a rhyming sound

But yet, they color lots of things, even circus clowns!

So, I shall start where it leaves off and try a thing or two

I'm just slacking off some time, entertaining me and you.

There once was a man named Wilver

No, he wasn't fast as old quick Silver!

Everyone said there would come a time

When Wilver wouldn't be Wilver!

And yes, that day came mighty fast

It came in like a flash!

You see, his wife was prone to tricks

To show him she was quick.

Breakfast served that dreadful morn'

His face did turn forlorn!

Told that he had downed an Orange

She served instead, green borage.

Kicking past the table, as fast as he could go

Everything inside his guts started fast to blow!

And now his face is withered, turning shades of Purple

His stomach roared a mighty roar and he let out a burple!

The moral to this story? You say there isn't one!

Oh, yes there is, it's plain as day...

Don't tell me it can't be done!