Here is a verse where the very first line rhymes
not with the next like a couplet, but the third,
and the second rhyme will echo two more times
within lines five and six, but number four
contains a rhyme whose neighbour isn’t heard
until line seven, just below this word:
here in fact, after which there are no more.

Here is another with a scheme meticulous
(a-B-c-D-e-E-d-C-b-A).
’Tis most unmusical to human ear
and doesn’t sound like poetry at all
until you reach the middle where, at least,
there’s a sound on which your intellect may feast,
but this brief banquet soon begins to pall:
to eye or ear it isn’t very clear
how both last lines ought to sound, for they
are too far from the start. Ridiculous!

The third verse is better but the rhymes - impossible.
I mean, you try and find a rhyme for “month”!
There isn’t one! And here’s another - “chemist” -
unless you are a clever apophthegmist
who has a lisp and starts each story, “Wunth
upon a time” to children in a hothpital.