(The poet A.E Stallings claimed that ‘month’, ‘April’, ‘orange’ and ‘silver’ have no rhymes)

It was the thirteenth of the month –
the month concerned was April –
and I was drinking crème de menthe
and pondering on Virgil.

His statue stands on many a plinth,
while I suck upon an orange;
maybe I’d be better with absinthe –
always a poet’s challenge.

Virgil was very good with a dactyl –
his age, of course, was silver –
but did even this great poet’s quill
know that a female lamb’s a chilver?