"It's not a spectator sport!"

They say that there is not a word
to rhyme with elbow, that's absurd!
For every creature that's alive
has an elbow by it's side.

And every time an arm is bent,
we know it is no accident,
that the crease will sure appear
inside the elbow, very clear.

So how can poets ever write
about this joint of fair delight?
And how will mankind ever know
how much I love my old elbow?