The impossible rhyme stands as the bottleneck of a perfect poem. A poem that managed to make use of the potential for a bilingual pun on poisson and poison, or perhaps venin and venison.
This was becoming a problem for Michel. As his past surged around him forcing him to remember his most famous role, he sought to embrace it and produce some new centuries to add to the twelve known to the world at large.
As he struggled with his task, he realized that he envied his more innocent self, who dealt with the growing realization of his differences from all the people around him by lashing out through prophecy of disaster, doom, and gloom.
But to abandon that role completely would make him a traitor to the legend his long buried past had become.
Of course, he was pretty sure he couldn’t actually publish a newly discovered Century XIII and have it taken seriously as the work of his famous antecedent. That left him two options. First, complete the work for private circulation among the few who knew his secret. Or second, complete the work as a novelty, without making any claim to its authenticity.
The first would spread his word, but to a very small group of people.
The second might spread his word widely, but the total who take it seriously might not be any larger.
It was a conundrum.
One that was presently moot until the lack of a rhyme for “orange” could be dealt with.
But he’d waited this long, he could wait a few more days for inspiration to strike.