Orange, Gorringe, Blorenge, Wales! Poem by Hm. Nes

Orange, Gorringe, Orange, Blorenge,
Orange, Gorringe, Blorenge, Wales!

Poets care not much for orange, as so little rhymes with orange,
Not much, save the mountain, Blorenge, outside Abergavenny, Wales.
Not a soul lives up on Blorenge- more a hill with little orange;
Though one champion horse in Blorenge lies entombed among her dales.
No, the medal wasn't orange but gold, Foxhunter won for Wales;
Thus, he's honored amidst her dales.

Orange, Gorringe, Orange, Blorenge,
Orange, Gorringe, Blorenge, Wales!

There is a noted General Gorringe, known by some as ‘Bloody Orange, '
Knighted, Sir George Frederick Gorringe, who lies in Shoreham, not in Wales.
And first class cricketer, H. Gorringe, also rhymes his name with orange,
Proudly donning the color orange and swinging midst Australian gales.
Long dead the soldier, ‘Bloody Orange, ' but lives the cricketer who hails:
"Bats, not swords, for New South Wales! "

Orange, Gorringe, Orange, Blorenge,
Orange, Gorringe, Blorenge, Wales!

Finally, I'll mention one last Gorringe- Henry Honeychurch, yes, Gorringe,
Who crossed the seas to reach New Orange, out of Egypt, not of Wales,
Cleopatra's ancient needle Gorringe gifted to the town, New Orange.
For New York was once called New Orange, though apples now fill orange pales.
Such a gift! And from a Gorringe!
Alas, but here ends the orange tales.
Orange, Gorringe, Blorenge, Wales!