English is tricky, that much we know,
Its plurals and rules put on quite a show.
One lonely box becomes two or three,
Yet oxen, not oxes, roam wild and free.
A single goose may take to the sky,
But two are called geese—don’t ask me why.
A moose in the forest, grand and loose,
Yet more than one is never meese!
A mouse in the attic, a family of mice,
But houses aren’t hice—now, wouldn’t that be nice?
One single man, but a crowd full of men,
Still, no one has ever baked in a pen.
A foot turns to feet, a tooth into teeth,
But booths aren’t beeth? Good grief!
If this becomes these, then what about kiss?
Would a room full of love be a place full of keese?
A brother has brethren, so why not methren?
If father stands strong, why not a fethren?
And masculine pronouns—he, his, and him,
Yet she, shis, and shim just don’t fit in!
English is puzzling, quirky, absurd,
Its rules are uncertain, its logic unheard.
Yet somehow we learn it, though oft with a sigh,
And keep asking "but why, oh why?"
