Everybody loves a good rhyme, or at least I do.
Imagine this, me, your ma, and our friends Becky, Grahame and Perrin are all on the loose in Santa Monica. We’ve just been drinking happy hour cocktails in Cabo Cantina and are on our way to ride the Ferris Wheel on Santa Monica Pier. We’re running through the streets of Santa Monica squealing ‘We’re going on the ferris wheel, we’re going on the ferris wheel.”
I stop. Suddenly struck by a delightful thought.
“Isn’t it weird that we’re going on a ferris wheel, and ferris rhymes with Perrin?”
Cue tumbleweed. The blank faces of my friends turning to stare at me as they decipher the utter nonsense of the words that just fell out of my mouth. Because of course, ferris does not rhyme with Perrin. (It is a half rhyme. Which is still a rhyme, but I was expecting it to be a full, glorious rhyme, as I think was everyone else.)
Poetry that doesn’t rhyme is fine, but rhymes that don’t rhyme are utterly disappointing, as are half rhymes you are anticipating to be more rhyming.
Queer Aunt Space 101 